


We Follow Darkness Like a Dream

by GreenasCole



Category: Lost Girl, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, Dark, F/M, Fae Stiles, Families of Choice, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Multi, Politics, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenasCole/pseuds/GreenasCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen Wolf/Lost girl mashup (Stiles is not an incubus though)</p><p>When a mysterious note is left on the Stilinski's door it leads Stiles and his best friend Scott out into the woods on quest for answers about Beacon Hills's most infamous tragedy.  After a surprise encounter with a monstrous wolf the two boys are hurled into an ancient and terrifying world, only for Stiles to discover he was secretly a part of it all along.  Will he manage to survive the insanity of Fae politics and avoid the enemies that are suddenly crawling out of the woodwork to find a place in this new world?  Or will the very revelation of his existence be the catalyst that plunges both worlds into war and chaos?  And why can't Scott just stop teasing him every time he catches Stiles looking at their new "friend" Derek too long?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fae What Now?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm wildly diverging from canon with this; borderline making things up as I go. It should be fun.

_I need to know the truth about the fire._

_Meet me tonight after dark._

Stiles read the two line note for the umpteenth time, willing it divulge its secrets.  It was with signed with two letters, L and H, on either side of symbol made of three connected spirals.  Something about the note pinged his cop instincts, something he never claimed to have around his father unless he _wanted_ to be grounded indefinitely “for his own safety”.  It was so familiar he wanted to claw own his face off to reach the buried memories.

Instead he stalked up to his room with an exasperated grunt and snatched the bottle of Adderall off the desk.  After dry swallowing a double dose he called Scott.

He didn’t answer. 

“Come oooooooon.”  It was a Sunday afternoon and school didn’t start until the next day; Scott was _not_ getting out of real a life mystery that had been _literally hand delivered_ to Stiles’s doorstep.  To his credit he considered talking to his father, the Sheriff, instead after the second ignored call.

After two more tries Scott finally picked up.  “Dude!?  What the hell?”

“Me!?  What about you!?  You hit ignore on me three times!”

“I was busy,” his friend mumbled.

“Now?  Busy doing what?”

Stiles could practically hear Scott blush in the ensuing silence.

“Nevermind.”  Bro code invoked.  “But guess what.  Someone delivered a cryptic message to my house asking for a meeting.”

“What about?” Scott asked, excitement creeping into his voice.

“The “truth about a fire”.”

“A fire!?”  Yup, totally hooked.  “Who do you think left it?”

“Don’t know.  It was signed with L-a funky Celtic-y symbol-H.”

“That’s so cool.”

“Yeah.  Okay, here’s the plan.  You get your wheezy ass over here while I unleash my Google Fu on this bad boy.”

“Hey not cool!  My asthma’s been way better.  I’m totally gonna make first line this year.”

“I’ll be right there with ya man.”  Stiles thoughtfully left off the “giving you CPR”.  He loved Scott like a brother but sometimes he wanted to shake him until the denial fell out.

“Damn straight.”

“See ya soon.”

“Bye.”

Now it was time figure out who had left the mysterious missive.

 

Ten minutes later Scott crashed through his bedroom door gasping. “What did you find?”

Stiles flinched so hard he flew up in air with a surprised shriek, startling a yell out of Scott in turn.

“Dude!  How,” _wheeze_ , “much Adderall,” _wheeze_ , “did you take?” _wheeze_.”

“A lot,” he replied, shrugging so hard his shoulder slammed his own jaw shut with a click.

Scott’s accusatory glare turned into a wide-eyed look of panic as his face started to purple.

“Really, Scott?”  Stiles went to his friend who had slumped against the doorframe and was sliding down to the floor.  He fished around in the pocket of the boy’s hoodie and pulled out his inhaler, unceremoniously shoving the end in his mouth.  “Breathe for crying out loud.”

Two puffs later and Scott replied indignantly “I was _trying_.”

“Keep practicing, you’ll get there, someday.”

“Ha,” _wheeze_ , “ha.”

“Anywho…” he said, plopping back to his chair and wheeling back to the desk.  “It only took me a couple minutes to dig up what we needed.”  He pulled up a digital copy of a newspaper clipping.”

“No way!  The Hale House Fire!?  That was like, the biggest thing to happen in Beacon Hills the Great Quake!”  Not to mention the most gruesome.  “Wait I thought they all died, who sent the note?”

“Not all of them died.  The article says three survived but it doesn’t say who.”

“How can you be sure this is the right fire?”

“Because of this.”  He picked up a photo album from the desk and flipped it open to picture of a group of smiling people standing in front of freshly planted tree.  Two women stood arm in arm, one Stiles’s mother, the other a striking woman with bold features and an olive complexion.  Off to one side a young Stiles faced away from the camera, engrossed in something lying in the grass.  Opposite him two teenagers stood by the mystery woman, a girl smiling brightly at the pair, and the other a boy who was scowling at the distracted Stiles.

He took the photo out and turned it over.  Written on the back in a flowing hand was:

_Me and Anddraigfoch at the Arboretum Restoration_

_With Talia, Derek, and Laura_

“My mom took me to their house a couple times while she was raising money for the Arboretum. That symbol is called a Triskelion; it was carved on _everything_ in there like a family seal or whatever _._ The note is from Laura Hale, it has to be.”  He threw the picture down with a triumphant flourish.

“Wow.  You got all that in ten minutes?  No wonder your dad’s always threatening to handcuff you to his desk when he’s on shift.”  Scott picked up the photo “How do you pronounce your name again?” he asked squinting as though the letters might morph into something vaguely intelligible.

Stiles let out his patented Real First Name Sigh.  “Don’t bother.  It’s not meant for human speech.”

“But you said it was your grandfather’s name?”

“Yeah, well, he was actually Welsh and lived in actual Wales where they know how to pronounce it.”

The front door slammed downstairs.

“Sounds like your-“

“Shhhhhhh!” Stiles cut him off when he heard his dad’s cell ring, the grumbled curses drifting up the stairs enough to tell him it was the station calling him back in for something _big_.  He crept out onto the landing as quietly as he could.

“…body in the preserve?  You…found _half_!?”  The next string of expletives was quite audible and blue enough to make Stiles blush.  “Fine, I’m on my way.”  Stiles strained to make out what the Sheriff began to whisper after he hung up, realizing he was counting under his breath too late to get away.  “Stiles!?”

His epic flail introduced the banister to his forehead with a meaty thunk.  “Ow!  I heard nothing!”

“Uh huh.  Stay home, son, I mean it.”

“Sure thing, pops.”  He wondered why his dad bothered.  Maybe because it was Beacon Hills.  Nothing really dangerous or interesting ever happened there.  There was only so much trouble he could get into with his nosing around.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 “Why are we out here?”

“Because, Scott, we’re looking for a body.”  Perhaps his brain was too oft oxygen deprived.

“No, I got that.  By the way, you said _half_ a body, which, yikes.  I mean why go to the old Hale House?  It’s just a burned out wreck.”

“Laura’s note didn’t say where to meet, just that she wanted to talk about the fire that killed her family.  It also wasn’t addressed to anyone.  Ergo, the note implies the Hale House because it’s the only place that’s both topical and guaranteed to be private.”

“I don’t know man, that’s kind of a leap.”  Scott stopped dead in his tracks.  They’d parked a ways down the winding wooded road so they could approach the house stealthily.  Stiles wasn’t about to admit it but he really didn’t want to stop for a chat in the middle of the creepy ass woods. 

“What is it _now_?”

“You think Laura is the body!  We’re walking directly into a possible murder scene where there’s a vivisecting killer!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Why would he hang around there when he’s already disposed of the pieces?”

“Pieces!?” Scott sputtered.  “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Look, most likely we’ll get to the house to find an embarrassed Laura Hale who left a note on the wrong door.”

“I guess you’re right.”  Scott quieted down as they started walking again.  His protests had never had any real heat; this was just what they did.  Stiles concocted some mischief and Scott tried to talk him out of it while secretly loving every minute of their misadventures.

True dark had fallen by the time they reached the house, the short winter evening fading into night with the speed and smoothness of a vast stage curtain closing.  They’d been there a few times over the year, even once before at night.  It was a popular dare among the kids in Beacon Hills.  And yet, the house was notably free of graffiti and the usual detritus found in places teens went to do things their parents wouldn’t approve of.  The sinister ruin carried an aura of menace that was still protecting its secrets most of a decade after the fire.

There was nobody there, not a single sign that someone had been either, at least at first glance.  After a moment a soft blue glow illuminated the trees on the far side of the clearing.

“See that?” Stiles asked excitedly, “it looks like someone dropped their phone.”

“Stiles wait!” Scott whispered, hanging back, but Stiles was on a mission.  But no scenario he had envisioned prepared him for what he found.  The phone was lying on the ground amid a pile of rags.  When phone lit up again showing “Derek Calling” the light revealed they weren’t rags but what could only be the remains of Laura’s clothes.  They were _shredded_ , but had no trace of blood on them.  It looked more like they’d burst from within.  Or been clawed off.

“Um…Scott?  I think you’d better come see this.”  Stiles was starting to reevaluate the brightness of this idea.  When there was no answer the bottom dropped out of his stomach.  “S-Scott?” he called weakly, turning to look at his friend.  He could barely see him from this distance but it was just light enough to make out that Scott was shaking with terror.  One hand was desperately trying to get the end of his inhaler into his mouth while the other was stretched out in a rigid line, finger pointing past Stiles’s.

He never got the chance to decide whether to embrace the horror movie cliché and look over his shoulder or just to try and bolt for safety.  A weight hit him in the back with what felt like the force of a wrecking ball, throwing him down onto the leaf strewn forest floor.  His screams came out in panicked wheezes while he wrestled with the thing pinning him, eventually managing to squirm out from under it enough to flip it over.

Stiles had been wrong.  The killer had already disposed of _some_ of the pieces.  It had been a few years since that picture had been taken but there was no mistaking Laura Hale.  She was naked from the waist up, the rest of her simply gone, and she was very much dead.

“Stiles look out!”  Scott had finally found his lungs and was running towards Stiles’s macabre wrestling match.  He never got there.  The creature that had been the true subject of Scott’s warning crashed into him, pinning him to the ground and delivering a savage bite to the boy’s torso.

Emboldened by hysteria and adrenaline Stiles floundered his way towards the struggle, unable to get his feet under him.  “Go away!” he screeched in desperation.  To his surprise the beast, which looked like nothing so much as a deformed giant wolf, released Scott from its jaws and turned its glowing red gaze on Stiles.

Its nostrils flared and it flinched away from him.  With a howl that was more like a roar it surged past the stunned Stiles and into the trees.

When he unfroze Stiles ran to Scott’s side.  “Oh my god, Scott!  Dude please tell me you’re alive.”  It was hard to see through the tears brimming in his eyes.

“Owwwwwwww.  That freaky wolf _bit_ me!  Oh man am I gonna get rabies?”

“Hold still you idiot and let me look!”  Stiles pulled up Scott’s shirt and hoodie to look at the wound.  It was huge, dozens of distinct impressions formed a double crescent that was larger than any wolf bite should ever be.  But aside from a few small dribbles of blood it had mostly clotted already and didn’t look deep enough to have hit anything important.  “Wow.  It’s nasty but it doesn’t look too bad; I think you’ll be fine.”

“Of course I will be.”  God bless the fortitude that came with denial.

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.  Our phones are in your jeep and we need to call your dad.”

“Ya think?”

They started back down the road at a hobbling pace just shy of a jog, looking back over their shoulders every couple of seconds.  They were so focused on what was behind them they walked into a new danger completely unawares.

Headlights flared blinding them.  For a moment Stiles sagged in relief thinking his father had tracked him down and they were about to be literally and metaphorically out of the woods, if in serious hot water.  He was soundly disabused of that notion when a fist connected with his jaw sending him to the ground, followed by a kick in gut so hard he was thrown into the trunk of a tree off the side of the road.

“Stiles!” Scott screamed, but he had his own worries.  Thing One, satisfied that Stiles was down for the count, lumbered over to help Thing two force Scott down onto his knees.  The thugs looked like extras from a _Lord of the Rings_ movie.  Seriously, no amount of moisturizer or snappy dressing could possibly help lower the hideous factor of the heavy trollish features.  A rail thin weasel faced man got out of the driver’s seat of the huge black SUV, walking around the back to remove something from the trunk before opening the passenger side door and stepping back with a bow.

The fourth man looked like a stereotypical country club member.  Middle aged, fit, and generally pleasant seeming, aside from the overdramatically sweeping black trench coat.

The freaking broadsword Weasel handed him was made of matte black steel that seemed to absorb light and looked anything but pleasant.  “What about these two my Lord?”

Lord Broadsword considered for a moment before letting out a weary sigh.  “This one’s been infected.  He’ll turn without sanction or die.  Either way the law is clear, sentence to meted out immediately.”

“I don’t know boss,” Thing Two said, “Maybe we should keep him, you know, as bait for the Alpha.”

“Spare me, Killian.  The only I’m going to catch with him is a week’s worth of complaints from you about your indigestion.”  Stiles didn’t have Scott’s talent for denial and couldn’t convince himself this was all a bad dream.  These people were fucking nuts, but they were totally _seriously_ about _eating_ his best friend.

“What about the other one?” Thing One asked.  “He looks…fresh.”  Stiles shuddered imagining those puffy troll lips mouthing at his gnawed up bones.  He needed to trade in for a less vivid imagination.

Lord Sword turned to look at him, eyes glowing a brilliant metallic gold.  For some reason that was the last straw for Stiles and he began to crack up into hysterical giggles.  The inhuman gold faded back to a clear piercing blue.  “Leave him, he’s Fae and there’s no stain on him.  Our concern is the human.”  His icy regard turned back to the struggling Scott.  “I am sorry for this but the Code is law.”

“The Code is Law,” the others intoned like some kind of cult, or _Pirates of the Caribbean_ superfans.

Things one and two pulled Scott’s arms around his back, forcing the helpless boy’s head and chest forward, exposing the back of his neck.  Sword calmly walked over and stood perpendicular to him, raising the sword over his head.

Stiles had given up trying to convince himself this was not happening.  _But this was_ not _happening_.  In the last ten minutes he’d been hit with the top half of corpse, watched his friend get mauled a _werewolf_ , and now some psychos who’d been to one too many LARPs were going to _cut off Scott’s head!?_

No.  Fucking.  Way.

Stiles dug his hands into the cold ground, clawing his way to hands and knees, lurching up to his feet.  “Get the hell off of him!” he yelled in a spray of bloody spittle.

The man lowered the sword but didn’t step away “Stay out of this, kid.  There’s no reason for you to forfeit your life as well.”

“The fuck there isn’t!  That’s my best friend you want to decapitate!”

“This?” he asked incredulously, “this is a human, what is he to one of the Fae?”

“I don’t know what drugs you’re on whackjob but put down the sword.  My dad’s the Sheriff and he’s out here somewhere.  By now he’s noticed I’m missing and is probably tracking my phone’s GPS.  Leave now and you might just get away.”  Stiles held his breath hoping Sir LARPS-a-lot bought his desperate ploy.

The unamused snort from Sword and round of blood curdling guffaws from the rogues gallery crushed that hope neatly.  “Nice try, but the local Sheriff is _human_ and you’re one of us.”

“What do you mean “he’s human”?  So am I!”

“You need to stop playing around or I’ll drag you in before your clan head myself.”  He jerked his chin at Weasel who was behind Stiles in a flash of inhuman speed, putting him in a headlock before he could even register the movement.  “Now, if there’s no more interruptions…” Lord Nutjob raised his blade once more.

Stiles had been caught in a maelstrom of emotion.  Fear, guilt, anger, pain, hope, desperation, love, selfishness, and a dozen other things too specific and abstract to define had been bubbling over inside him.  But hearing this lunatic talk about murdering his best friend like it was annoying chore to do before dinner was too much.  His vision went red as the warring emotions were replaced with a single overwhelming feeling: _rage_.

He twisted like an eel, getting a hand behind him and swiping his nails across Weasel’s eyes, eliciting an agonized wail far out of proportion to the scratch.  Pitching his torso forward he threw a heel behind, striking back and up, catching the man in the solar plexus and sending him flying into the same tree he had hit with a satisfying wet crack and a shower of bark.

Sword huffed out another one of those infuriating tired sighs “Really?  Do you just _want_ to die?”

“What I _want_ is for you to GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY BEST FRIEND!!!” 

Stiles’s cry had started in a normal voice but ended in roar that shook the very ground and blew out the windows and headlights of the SUV, but weirdly his reddened vision could see just fine in the sudden dark.

Lord Whothefuckknows’s sword slipped out of his grasp, falling to the ground and sinking halfway to the hilt while stood there staring slack-jawed.

Stiles was suddenly more tired than he had ever been in his life, swaying on his feet for a moment before sinking to his knees.

“Stiles!” Scott squirmed out the stunned henchmens’ grips and over to him, helping him back to his feet.  “What the fuck did you do to him?” he demanded brimming with righteous anger.

The three psychos left standing just stared at the two boys like they were watching their world fall apart before their eyes.  After a full minute had gone by Stiles spoke “Okay, then, I…guess we’ll just be going now…nice to meet you.”

The Lord finally snapped out of it “No.  You two are coming with me.”  He turned to the Things who were staring at their hands stupidly like they were just now realizing Scott had escaped their grip “Take them.  Every Fae within miles will have heard that and I want the situation contained before word spreads.”  He turned back to Stiles “I’m sorry, your Grace, but I’m afraid I must insist.”  He extended a hand behind him and the sword flew back into it.  Even held loosely at his side the man’s threat was clear.

“Stiles what’s going on?” Scott whispered in his ear.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” he deadpanned.

The Things turned towards them with identical vicious smiles.  A flicker of bright blue in the scarlet haze in his eyes was all the warning he got before something else joined the party, lashing out with clawed hands and smoothly hamstringing One and Two before they even knew he was there.  As they fell he caught their misshapen heads and cracked them together with a _clunk_ that Stiles could have sworn sounded hollow.  “Hello, Argent,” the newcomer said.

Given their current situation it only took a second to recognize Derek Hale.  Stiles would later blame the adrenaline for the flush of warmth he felt as his eyes took in the built young man in the leather jacket.

“Derek,” Argent said with a nod, “I do have a title you know, proprieties matter after all.”

“Yes, you and your family are all about _rules_.”  His eyes flashed electric blue once more.  “How about this for following the rules: I’m the last survivor of Clan Hale.  That makes this territory mine.  In other words Light territory.  Your attempting to murder and abduct underaged Fae on my land, _Lord Cuhullin_ , is a dire infraction of the laws and punishable by death, regardless of your _title_.”

“That will never hold up.  The Council of Elders will never cede this territory to you.  It has been Dark since the formation of the Western Counties.”

“Sadly it’s mine to inherit, not theirs to cede.”

“You-“

“Hey!” Stiles had been watching this exchange avidly but it was past time for some actual answers, “would either of you mind leaving off your little episode of _The Monsters’ Court_ and explaining _what the hell is going on_!?”

Derek snorted “Be careful what you wish for kid.  Under the authority of The Elder I am to bring these two before The Cypress forthwith.  He also extends an invitation to you to represent the Dark in negotiations.”

The anger brewing on Argent’s face vanished behind his usual placid expression of relaxed calculation.  “It seems I have little choice.  Very well, I release the prisoners into your custody pending judgment.”

“Prisoners!?  On what charge!?” Scott sputtered.

Derek glared at them to shut the hell up.  Stiles took the hint and elbowed Scott in the ribs.

“Right, never mind.  Where are we going?”

“San Francisco,” the sour-faced (werewolf?) said.

“What!?” they squeaked in unison.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

After Derek and Argent had nodded their terse goodbyes to each other, the werewolf had half dragged half carried them to a shiny black Camaro hidden on a small back road near the Hale House, simply ignoring all attempts at conversation along the way.

Once they were settle in the back seat Stiles made sure Scott was going to go with flow for now.  That stubborn look had formed on his face almost immediately, but Stiles started listing each crazy thing they’d seen that night, starting with “wolf monster”.  He got as far as “troll people” before he saw Scott reach his cracking point and settle in for the ride in silence. 

At first he’d worried he was about to have the tensest two hours in a car _ever_.  But once the warm susurrus of the tires scraping on the interstate reached his ears he nodded off without hesitation.

 

“We’re here,” Derek barked, snapping Stiles out of his nap.  “You drooled on my car,” he said in the same tone Scott might say “you boiled live puppies”.

“You’re one to talk dog breath.  Do you have one of those pet hair rollers?  I just washed this hoodie.”

Derek gave him a glare the promised a slow and methodical death by torture.  Stiles merely yawned back and the werewolf got out of the car with a snarl.

Scott turned to him with a look that was part fond and part concerned “Really Stiles, that guy?”

“That guy what?”

Playing dumb was no proof against Scott’s eye rolls.  “Please, if you two keep pulling each other’s pig tails like that I’m expecting to get a wedding invitation within six months.”

Stiles’ cheeks betrayed him by flushing scarlet.  Stupid capillaries.

“Ha!  S’what I thought.”

The exited the car and found themselves staring at a massive mansion overlooking on a hill overlooking the bay.  It was stately pile of natural-looking wood and stone and seemed to have grown naturally out of the hillside for all that every inch of it screamed wealth and power.

“We are in so far over our heads,” Stiles observed.

Scott made a distinctly canine whining sound in agreement.  It sounded like that whole turning into a werewolf thing was happening _fast_.

“I guess it’s time to take the red pill.”

They followed Derek up the drive into the mansion through huge wooden doors that looked like they’d been built for siege.  The interior was lushly appointed.  Natural fabrics in bold colors covered simple heavy furniture that looked invitingly comfortable.  The ceiling was supported by vast beams of redwood, and so far above them it would have been lost in the shadows without the of a chandelier full of real candles.

They didn’t have time to gawk as they scurried after the werewolf who was stalking up a grand staircase like he was on his way to kick some ass or chew on some nails or something else rugged and broody like that.  There was no way Stiles thought that was appealing.  Not a chance.

His face must have given him away while he watched the muscles of Derek’s ass shifting under his obscenely tight jeans, because he saw Scott giving him the side-eye and failing to hide a knowing grin.

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed.  He had the uncomfortable feeling that the airy house was actually crawling with well camouflaged security even though they hadn’t seen another living soul.

At the top of the stairs they went through another set of double doors and into a short corridor lined with portraits of people in various forms of historical dress from past to present.  When they reached the end of the hall they faced a final set of doors made of stained glass depicting a scene in a redwood forest.

Derek stopped and spun around “Listen up.  You will be quiet.  You will be respectful.  You will _not_ speak unless spoken to.  For some reason I’m sticking my neck out to keep yours attached to your idiotic heads.  Make me regret it and you won’t have to worry about the Dark, I’ll take care of you myself.  Clear?”

They nodded mutely, inspiring a tiny quiver in Derek’s mouth that might just be the ghost of a smile.  Challenge accepted Sourwolf!  Comedic terrorism would have to wait as they were walking through the glass doors into a huge solarium/office.  Plants of all varieties grew everywhere, carefully formed and sculpted, turning the room into one complex living sculpture.  The entire back wall was made of glass, showing a panoramic vista of San Francisco lit at night.

Derek stopped at the foot of a shallow flight of stone steps leading up to a dais, on top of which sat a heavy wooden desk.  The woman that sat behind it was the very picture of an aging upper class socialite going out for a night of seeing and being seen.  Her hair, jewelry, clothes, makeup, even her smile were all careful calculations meant to convey her status and her expectations of those who had less of it.  What was shocking was that Stiles knew her.

“Mrs.  Martin!?”  Derek shot him a look that could have subtitled “strike one”.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We go to school with your daughter.”

“Oh you’re friends of Lydia’s?  How nice,” she said with polite insincerity.  The Cypress came around the desk to perch primly on the front edge.  “Well,” she said clapping her hands together, “this is a bit of an awkward situation.  The Elder tells me that you know nothing of your true nature, Stiles is it?  He also speaks very highly of you, Scott.”  The two of them exchanged confused looks but kept Derek’s instructions in mind.  “With his recommendation I’m willing to suspend summary execution in favor of letting Derek “show you the ropes”.  You will follow his instruction and assist in his efforts to locate his sister’s killer.  Do well and I think there’s every chance you’ll survive to formally choose a clan.”

“Um…thanks?”  Poor Scott looked a little green.

“Unfortunately you, Mr. Stilinski, are a bit of a complication.”  It was probably the most polite preface to a death sentence Stiles had ever heard.  “I’m sorry but it’s just so hard to believe Mr. Hale’s and The Cuhullin’s reports about you.”

“To be honest ma’am, I don’t believe it either.  I can’t be Fae or whatever, my parents were human.”

“Were?”  Crap, him and his mouth.  He was screwed now.  “Has something happened to the good Sheriff in the last three hours?”

Scott looked nonplussed.  Derek’s face seemed almost…guilty?  He gave Stiles a microscopic nod of encouragement.  “My dad isn’t my biological father; I’ve known since I was old enough to Google.”

“Come again?”

“Both my parents had blue eyes and I wondered why I had brown.  I looked it up and found out that’s all but impossible, so I asked them and they told me the truth.”

“And your real father, who was he?”  The question was delivered in the same superficially polite tone but there was a dangerous eagerness to her smile and body language.

“My _biological_ father died before I was born.  That’s all I know.”

She didn’t seem to like that.  “Still, that hardly proves anything.”

The stained glass doors swung open again, admitting Lord Argent, sans sword and goons.  “Lady Cypress,” he said with a precise bow.

“Lord Cuhullin,” she returned with a deep nod.

“I’m afraid there can be no doubt.  I heard his Voice.”

“Many Fae can speak in the Great Voice, that hardly proves his lineage, because _he cannot be_ , Chris.”

“There is a simple test.”  It might have been Stiles imagination but he could have sworn he heard Derek growl at that.

“Do tell.”  It was obvious the woman just did _not_ want Stiles to be a…whatever.

“Ignoring the claws, eyes, and Voice, there’s the small detail that he truly doesn’t know he’s Fae.”

“And?”

“And whatever his species he obviously has considerable gifts.  If tonight was the first time they’ve manifested it means he’s never fed.  After that display of power he must be hungry.”

“So what do you propose?  If he is what you claim his diet is rather _specific_.  Unfortunately, while his little puppy friend would fit the bill I just granted him clemency.  I can hardly offer him up to the Dark as a meal.  Mr. Stilinski, or whoever he really is has no training; his first feed will almost certainly be fatal.” 

“Excuse me?  I’m supposed to be _Dark Fae!?_   Does that mean I’m supposed to go tramping around the woods looking for teenagers to decapitate?  Cuz that’s a little _Friday the 13 th_ for my taste.”

“You have a choice,” Derek said quietly, looking down at his feet.  “It doesn’t matter what clan you’re born into.  Fae law grants everyone that freedom.”  Mrs. Martin’s face became a mask of condescending fondness, like she was watching a favorite dog learn a new trick.  It was hard to say which was winning for Argent; his obvious affront at Derek’s apparent defection or his distaste for the woman on the dais.

“But as Mr. Hale can tell you from experience: choices have consequences,” he said.

“Enough!”  Mrs. Martin’s, no, The Cypress’s voice boomed through the air, eyes filling in with black as her pupils threatened to swallow the whites while power rolled out from her.  “I have a fundraiser to attend, a daughter to placate, and a husband to avoid.  Let’s return to the matter at hand.”

“Very well.”  Argent looked thrilled at her lapse in composure.  “As I was saying, he has no reserves.  Trigger his anger again and his Fae side will remain manifest until it’s satisfied.”

She sighed at the imposition of having to witness a spectacle, and Stiles doubted he was going to have to reach all that deep to find some anger.  “Derek,” she said snapping her fingers, “please give our young friend a lesson in anger management.”  The werewolf looked a little nauseous at the command.

“Actually, my Lady,” Argent cut in, “The boy demonstrated exceptional control of his base instincts earlier, at least until a particular trigger was activated.”

The Cypress’s smile turned feral when she deciphered his meaning.  “I see.  Derek, on second thought, perhaps you should instruct your new packmate in art of werewolf combat.”

“He doesn’t even have claws yet ma’am,” he protested.

“Oh I don’t think it will matter in the long run.  After all, he’ll probably end up as rug in front of my fireplace,” she said with a delighted laugh.  She fixed her pageant smile on Stiles and dialed it up to full gloating wattage as her eyes became wholly black and inhuman.  Clearly “Light” was mostly an arbitrary choice.  The crazy bitch was threatening to skin Scott just to get a rise out of him.

Screw it.  Give the people what they want.  Now that he knew what it felt like it was much easier to find and open up that well of rage he’d sealed off after his mother died.  Besides, it felt _amazing_ and he kind of wanted to _keep_ it open.  The red filled his vision (he went out on a limb and guessed it colored his eyes too) as the rage was freed to run.  But he was so tired, and damn it all they were right, filled with a trembling empty hunger like nothing he’d ever experienced. For a second it felt like the energy was going to roast him from the inside out, until he felt a soothing coolness at the tickle at the edge of his mind.  It was a light fog when he wanted gallon of water, but it was enough.  For now.  He pulled it into himself, letting the delicious sweetness balance him out.  Bit by bit the torrent of power stabilized under his skin.  The red faded but this time more of that wonderful surging strength remained.

“That’s it?” the Cypress asked unimpressed.  “Yes his eyes glowed red but he didn’t even grow claws!”

“Look around,” Argent said like he was speaking to an exceptionally slow toddler.  All the plants in the solarium were withering before their very eyes, becoming yellowed and droopy.  “I’d say that test came back positive.  Someone will need to get him a real meal soon before he starts blighting the land itself.”

Mrs. Martin was pale and shaking “No.  It can’t be.  They’re dead, all of them.”

“One more thing.  As I left Beacon Hills I took the liberty of looking up Mr. Stilinski’s birth records.  It seems “Stiles” is a nickname, an understandably preferable one in this case.” 

Stiles made a disgusted gutteral sound, driven way past the point of politeness.  Always people making fun of his stupid name.  Even _monsters_ thought it was good time. 

Argent looked him in the eye, a twinkle of humor finally gracing the man’s own.  “Did your mother tell you why she gave you that name?”

“She said I was named after my grandfather.”

“She named you after him or gave you his name?”

“What’s the diff…”  Balls!  Stiles got it.  “After him; in honor of him.”

“And you know what it translates to?”  Stiles nodded _very_ slowly because he was feeling like his head might come right off if he moved too fast.  “By all means, introduce yourself then.”

Stiles cleared his throat, desperately wishing he could turn back time and burn that goddamn note.  “My name is Anddraigfoch Rhisiart Stilinski.”

Mrs. Martin was actually clutching her pearls.  Derek looked…ashamed of himself?  Scott was definitely, very confused. 

But Lord Argent was smug as he intoned “May I present His Grace, Stiles Stilinksi, The Great Red Dragon.”

“Dude!” Scott said stunned.

Stiles snatched the inhaler out of Scott’s pocket and took a couple deep drags.  For some reason the only coherent thought he could latch onto as his world spun out of control was that they had school tomorrow.  Maybe someone would write them a note?

 


	2. Please Fae for Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a meal, a shock, and some answers.
> 
> The Sheriff gets to come clean and also a surprise guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some potential triggers here. Non-explicit references to non-con and the sacrifice of virgins. You, dragony stuff.
> 
> Also, a serious yuck factor with considerable gore. Dragon!Stiles had an appalling lack od table manners.

“You want me to what now?” He asked in disbelief staring at the magnificent beast in front of him.  The bull was pure gold from its hair to its horns and eyes.  It was easily one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, but it was more than just its appearance.  A living aura of strength and potential surrounded it, shimmering, intoxicating, and that hungry red roiling pit in his chest was reaching out towards it.

“I don’t _want_ you to do anything, that’s kind of the point.”  The Cypress was _not_ happy.  “Golden bulls are a little hard to come by and this one was meant be my sacrifice for Beltane in a couple of months.  Now I’ll have to use a regular old farm animal.”  She said it like Stiles might have said “now I’ll just have to eat this pile of grubs for lunch instead of curly fries”.

“Or you could just move your estate,” the Cuhullin offered helpfully.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” she demanded rounding on him.  “I knew it was strange how easily you agreed to have him brought here!  Now I’ll be out _millions_ and you get to avoid a body dump.  Then again you’ve always been petty, even for a Seraph.”

“You wound me.”

While the two of them bickered Stiles and Scott had moved closer to the fae beast.  His best friend was stroking a hand along its back mystified while Stiles scratched behind one of its ears, marveling at the gleaming horns that ended in shockingly sharp points.

“It’s probably best not to get to attached, guys.”  He looked unhappy but also a little like he was anticipating the “feeding”.  Maybe werewolves were a big fan of steak tartare?  Really, really _fresh_ steak tartare.

“Enough,” Argent snapped at Martin.  He turned to Stiles “Bottom line kid.  It’s either the feed off the animal or we drop you at the dormitory of St. Francis School for Girls and bar the exits until you’ve had your fill.”  He felt cold at the blatant nonchalance with which the Fae Lord suggested he star in his own private slasher flick.

“The bull, definitely the bull.”  Something about what the man had said clicked with what little he knew about dragon lore, and _ewwwwwww_.  “And, uh, what am I supposed to _do_ with it exactly?”

“Oh for the love of Zeus.  Here, let’s move this along, shall we?”

Those solid black eyes of hers returned.  As they did darkness swirled in the bulls’ eyes as well.  Derek cried “No!” just as Argent demanded “Are you out of your-

He didn’t quite finish before the animal had swung one of those wickedly sharp horns into Stiles’s midsection.

The pain was indescribable.  Seriously, he suddenly looked back fondly on the time he fell out of a tree and broke his arm in two places.  A split-second later the fact he’d been fucking _impaled_ caught up to him.  But before he could begin composing his goodbyes (he was torn between a “tell my Father etc.” and a “take care of yourselves”), the pain began to lessen, and not in a going into shock way.  That delicious energy he could feel around the bull became less of a call and more of a tidal pull, pulsing in time to the creature’s heart.

“Everyone get back, slowly,” Argent warned in a tense voice, fingers twitching towards a weapon he wasn’t wearing at the moment.

Derek had Scott in a choke hold to keep him from rushing to Stiles’s side, who was _still_ pinned like a butterfly by the overgrown piece of hamburger. That is, until he reached a hand under its head, claws extending, and slashed its throat open to the bone in one swift motion.

The creature staggered and tried to bellow in rage and terror but could only gurgle weakly.  As it fell onto its knees he lifted himself off the impaling horn, his torn flesh mending quickly so that not even of drop of his own blood was lost as he eased free.  Without further ado he buried his face in the beast’s ruined neck, taking huge gulps of the sweet wine-dark blood and worrying off chunks of sinew and fat with the forest of needle sharp fangs that had erupted from his gums.

It.  Was.  _Amazing_.  The flesh and blood tasted good, certainly, but it was that golden glow that had surrounded the bull that was the real treat.  Even as he devoured its the flesh that energy rushed into the waiting red void within him.  It was more than just than just food, or power, it was _life_ surging through him, filling him up.

When there was no more glow to consume he rose, staring down at the remains of his meal.  It looked withered, not unlike the plants around him had, the golden color its coat now looking brown and tarnished.  He turned his scarlet gaze on the others present.  The Cypress and the Cuhullin had their eyes downcast in deference to his rank and power, and well they should.  He looked over at Derek who was easing Scott’s unconscious form onto the ground and felt another hunger rise within him.

In the flash he was in front of the werewolf, blazing red eyes boring into icy blue.   He reached up and grabbed Derek’s hair with one hand, pulling his head sideways to expose his neck and drawing delicate cuts in the skin with the claws of his other hand.  The older man shuddered as he licked up the beads of blood, breathing in the wild scent of him.  It was good, especially the taste of excitement as the wolf’s body reacted to his closeness.   But it was also wrong somehow, _less_ than it should be, _weak_.  Stiles could throw him down and take him right there and he wouldn’t be able to put up enough of a fight to make it worth it.

Horror washed through at the direction of his thoughts like an ice water tsunami and shattered the spell.  What the fuck was wrong with him that he would even consider doing… _that_!?  He staggered over to the nearest planter and retched violently, heaving terrified sobs in between violent ejections of blood and tissue.  None of this was real, it couldn’t be.  His father, and screw these homicidal lunatics Sheriff Stilinski was and always would be his _real_ father, had taught him better than that.  A sick feeling coiled in his gut that had nothing to do with the vomiting.  What if it didn’t matter?  True Monsters didn’t have the luxury of morals.

He didn’t know how long he lay sobbing on the cold marble floor.  When he came back to himself Derek was there with his arms wrapped around him, one hand rubbing his back soothingly.  “It’s okay; everything’s going to be okay.  I made a promise and I’m going to keep it, I swear.”

Stiles hiccoughed out a hysterical laugh “You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Uuuuuunnngh,” Scott groaned from the floor nearby.  “What, is it time for school already?  Man what a headache.”  The boy blinked up at them blearily, until he caught sight of Stiles covered in blood and being aggressively cuddled by a large muscular werewolf.  “Dude!”  Scot slammed into the two of them, adding his own arms to the crushing embrace.

“Take it easy man,” Stiles wheezed, “werewolf super strength.”

“Oops, sorry,” he said in a tone suggesting he wasn’t sorry one bit, but he did ease up a bit.  “Whoa, check it out.”

Stiles looked up at Scott’s awed tone and immediately saw what had changed.  Argent and Martin had withdrawn, leaving them ostensibly alone in the solarium.  The plants and trees that had been withered and brown like corpse of his…steak dinner were now lush and green, overgrown even.  All around them a hundred varieties of flower had burst into bloom, filling the air with a riot of color and a symphony of sweet fragrances.

“Um…ta da?” he ventured.

Derek snorted.  “Come on.  Your Dad’s been told where you are.  We should get going; you’ll want to get cleaned up before you see him.”

“Right, Dad.”  That conversation was going to be loads of fun.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

They stopped at a motel just outside of the city so they could all shower and change.  Derek was the only one of them that had a change of clothes so he left them in the room while he went out for provisions.  Scott was obviously dying to talk but Stiles shuffled into the bathroom without a word and locked the door behind him.

After he took off his bloody clothes and looked at himself in the small mirror.  He reached inside and drew up the dragon from within.  The change was underwhelming.  The Voldemort eyes were definitely on the creepy side but his claws mostly just looked like the fingernail of bag lady.  His teeth were another matter.  When he opened his mouth it exposed two rows of long sparkling points that would have looked more at home on a mako shark than a pasty faced teenager.

Honestly he was a little relieved; he’d been afraid he’d look more like Doc Connors from Spiderman.  Instead he just looked like he needed some Visine, a manicure, and some aggressive orthodonture.  It was strangely comforting, seeing how little he had really changed.  He let the shift recede and his draconic feature returned to those he was used to.  Handy, considered the Fae appeared big on the whole secrecy thing.

He got in the shower and turned the heat on full blast.  After a couple of seconds he yelped turned it down as the scalding water began scorching bits he’d rather not have burns on.  Clearly he was not immune to fire.  He should’ve known better than to use _The Monster Manual_ as a reference book for dragon info.  He stayed in there for almost half an hour, scrubbing himself pink in an effort to get every last erythrocyte of cow blood off his skin, while going over everything he’d ever known or heard about his kind.

When he heard Derek return he got out of the shower, dried off, and wrapped a towel around his waist before going out to get some answers.

“Here,” the wolf said handing him a pair of jeans and a plain black tee.  “There wasn’t a lot to choose from so I just got some stuff that would fit.”  He tossed an identical outfit at Scott.  Great, now the three of them would be dressed exactly alike.  That was sure to put his father at ease and dispel the decidedly cultish mien this whole Fae business had.  “I also brought some food,” he said brandishing an enormous bucket of fried chicken.  At least he’d been considerate enough to avoid beef.

“I already ate if you recall.” He certainly was trying not to.

“You fed, it’s not the same.  Since you didn’t keep any of the…meat down, you still need to eat regular food.”  Derek may have had a point there.  His Hunger was sated for the time being but his regular old stomach was practically screaming for sustenance.

“How does that work?” Scott asked, curious.  “And why did Stiles have to eat that cow thing?”

Derek sighed “It’s complicated.  All Fae have to feed, mostly from humans.  Blood, life force, emotions, it varies.”

“So what do we eat?”  Poor Scott looked a little green.

“I’ve always been partial chicken parmesan, myself,” he replied acerbically.  “Werewolves don’t _have_ to eat humans.  We get our power from the hunt, from the kill, as much as from the actual eating.  What we hunt is a matter of choice.”

“Oh, good.” Scott sighed, relieved.

“I’m guessing it’s not so simple for me?” Stiles asked already sure he knew the answer.

“No.  Fae feeding habits can get pretty complicated, dragons being one of most difficult to manage…discretely.”

“Why?” Scott asked around a drumstick, having surreptitiously snagged the bucket while they spoke.

“Dragons are basically immortal.  It takes a lot food to maintain that kind of power, so much that they can’t just eat anything.”

“So why with the whole virgin sacrifice deal?” Stiles asked.  “From the way Beavis and Butthead were talking I gathered that was a real thing?”

He looked half amused, half horrified at Stiles’s blatant disrespect for the squabbling Fae leaders.  “Yeah.”

“But it’s not a sex thing, right?  I mean I basically ate that bull vampire style.”

“No it’s not a “sex thing”.  Dragons can’t just consume any living thing, they need their prey to have to so much life essence they have the power to actually _create_ more of it.”

“So the whole virgin sacrifice thing _is_ real, then?  Because virgins have the most, what, potential “living” to do?”

“Something like that.”

“Dude that’s so wrong.” Scott interjected

“Helpful, Scott.” Derek snapped.

“So you’re saying I’ll have to start polling the girls at my high school for their sexual histories so I can find out which ones are the nummy treats?” Stiles asked, well on his way to hysterical.

“No!  That’s not…you don’t actually have to _kill_ anything to feed.”

“But the bull…”

“It was a sacrificial animal.  The Cypress is a powerful Maenad, a handmaiden of Dionysus, and she owns a controlling interest in half the vineyards in Napa.  That bull was meant to be an offering to bless the crops with fertility and growth.  The _sacrifice_ was the important part, accepting it in the spirit with which it was given.”  A _Dune_ fan?  He would never have guessed.

“So the fact that it was so valuable…”

“Made it a better meal, yes.”

“So Stiles doesn’t have to eat people either.  That’s a relief.”

“I’m guessing it’s not that easy, Scott.”

“Not really, no.” Derek said exasperated.  “But we should have at least a week before your blight begins to spread.”  He snatched the dwindling supply of chicken from Scott’s arms and took a breast for himself before handing the bucket to Stiles.  “Here, eat.  We can work out the details of your feeding schedule later.  Besides, I’m working off old stories and legends.  You need to talk to someone who actually _knows_ what they’re talking about.”

Stiles mulled that over while the three of them ate in silence.

 

When all that was left was a pile of greasy bones Stiles began again “So tell us about the Light and the Dark because I can’t figure it out.  I mean, you said you were Light but your whole family had been dark.  Argent is Dark but Lydia’s Mom is the one with the creepy black eyes and murder puppet powers.  And what’s up with those weird titles?”

“Two clans, Light and Dark.  Mortal enemies.  Great War.  Thousand year truce.  That’s the gist of it.” Derek replied.

“Got that much thanks,” he replied sardonically.  “But how does it _work?_   And where do Scott and I fit in?”

“Yeah.” His friend assented.

Derek let out a long-suffering sigh.  “Fine, Fae Politics 101.  After the Great War ended the legendary Blood King wrote a system of laws to maintain the peace.  After reaching the age of majority all Fae children have to choose one or the other and there are very strict rules about how the two sides can interact.”

“So you…?”

“Don’t want to talk about myself,” he said, eyes hardening.  “But as for Scott, he’s a werewolf living in my territory.  Since I’m light and his superior so is he, at least until he’s eighteen.”

Scott bristled at the idea of being someone’s _subordinate_ “Hey!  I’m not going to do whatever you tell me just because you think you’re “superior” to me.  Besides, all you Fae people are _nuts_.”

“Way to go with the racism there Scott,” Stiles drawled, “you managed to hit everyone in the room including yourself.”

“If you want I can tell the Cuhullin you’ve decided you’d rather not be pack.  I’m sure he’d be more than happy to chop your head off,” Derek suggested flippantly.

“It’s not like I asked for this!”

“And I did?” Stiles was getting angry now, eyes shifting and voice taking on an inhuman timbre.

“Scott, please refrain from provoking the _dragon_ that has zero training on how to control his powers,” Derek said acidly.

The teen wolf at least had the grace to look embarrassed.  “Sorry, this is all just a lot to take in, you know?”

Speaking of “grace” “Why did Argent keep calling me “your Grace”?” Stiles asked trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Both sides are governed by a council of elders and a group of…elected officials so to speak.  The Dark name theirs after legendary warriors like The Cuhullin and the Light after the sacred trees The Cypress.  There are still noble families, though, from the times when the Fae were ruled by kings.”

“So my grandfather, “The Red Dragon”…”

“Was High King of the Dark some two thousand years ago.”

“Dude you’re royalty” Scott crowed.

“Again I’m guessing not so simple.”

“You’re right.  Your family line was thought to have ended millennia ago.  By the Norman conquest dragons were thought to be extinct except for the lesser cousin like drakes and wyverns.”

“So how do I, you know, exist?”

“Fae genetics is...complicated?”

“You sound real sure,” Scott grumbled.

“It’s not like they offered it as a major at NYU,” he snapped back.

“ _You_ went to college,” Scott asked, his shocked tone making Stiles wince and Derek growl with a flash of blue in his eyes.

“Yes.”  He turned so he couldn’t see Scott before continuing, effectively dismissing his existence.  “When two different types of Fae mate it can be hard to predict the species and powers of the child.  All we know for certain is that your mother’s father was a dragon.  It’s unlikely but quite possible that neither of your parents were dragons themselves.”

“I’m guessing there’s no DNA data bank for Fae?”

He snorted at that “Not really.  When you live at least a few centuries technological revolutions are about as consequential as fashion trends.”

“Wait, centuries?” Scott asked in disbelief.

This time it was Stiles that face-palmed at all the Scottness “Picked up on that did you?”

“Sorry go on, but just, wow.”  Stiles definitely agreed with _that_ sentiment.

“Like I was saying, as Stiles’ powers develop there might be clues to his ancestry.  As far as his royal blood goes, he’s twice illegitimate and probably nowhere in line for the throne, even if the old monarchies still existed.”

“So why’s he “Your Grace”?” Scott asked mocking the Cuhullin’s formal tone.

“He’s still the head of his family by process of elimination.  Technically I guess he’s a Duke, maybe a Prince.  Since there’s no land or money involved I doubt anyone will bother to press the issue.”

“So no Fae paparazzi lurking outside my window trying take naked photos of my royal ass?” he joked.

“More likely poachers than paparazzi.

“What!?” Stiles and Scott asked in shocked unison.

“Dragon’s went extinct for more reasons than their high profile and general lack of agreeableness.”

“So what, my ancestors were slaughtered for their _ivory_ or something!?”

Derek rolled his eyes.  “Blood, not ivory.  Dragon’s are among the most magical beings _ever_ as well as _immortal_.  A couple ounces of your blood would go for enough on the Fae black market to buy all of Beacon Hills.  Twice.  People are going to come crawling out of the woodwork to try and take advantage of your age.  Capturing a mature dragon alive is generally an epic form of suicide.”

“This just gets better and better,” he mumbled.  “Is there anything I can do to protect myself?”

“Train, hone your abilities, make allies, but there’s one thing above all else.  You need to choose a side.  Until you’ve declared for one or the other neither will protect you.”

“But…how do I pick?  So far I can’t imagine wanting to join either of those groups of assclowns.”

A smile quirked Derek’s lips “Understandable.  I wouldn’t worry about having to figure it out.  You’ll probably find there’s a lot of last minute transfers to your school.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked perplexed.

“He means that the Fae are coming to Beacon Hills to…what, court me?”

 “Pretty much.”

“Fantastic.”

“The Dark in will particular will pull out all the stops and they know just how to entice a hungry young fae.”  Derek looked him dead in the eyes in silent acknowledgement with an edge of gratitude like he knew exactly what had been going through Stiles mind when he’d lost it back in the Cypress’s compound.

“And if I side with the Light?”

Derek seemed at a loss for how to frame the idea but his shudder conveyed the message just fine.  Stiles might not have to turn dark, but rejecting the Dark altogether might have unthinkable consequences.

And just twenty-four hours ago the biggest decision he’d had to wrestle with was whether to grow his hair out or not.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Derek timed their arrival at Stiles’s house so they’d have a few minutes to get situated in the living room before the Sheriff arrived.  They’d barely sat down before there was a screech of tires in the driveway followed by his Father bursting through the door with a frantic shout of “Stiles!”

“I’m in here Dad.”  For a second he wondered if maybe his Dad really was Fae the way he almost seemed to teleport to his side and lift him clear off the ground into a bonecrushing hug.

“Higuh ackhh reeeguahd,” he said, apologizing for what must have been a terrifying night for a parent.”

“Don’t you ever do that again!  Next time you’re being abducted by those arrogant, self-aggrandizing, egotistical sons of bitches you call me first!”

Stiles sucked in a huge breath as his Dad let him go.

“Wait, so you know?” Scott asked.

The Sheriff gave him a look that said “are you stupid or something?” “Of course. I was married to Stiles’s mother for fifteen years and believe it or not I didn’t buy this uniform in a costume shop.”

Derek stepped up to him, not holding out a hand to shake but at least not trying to stare him down either.  “Sheriff Stilinski, I’m-

“I know who you are, Mr. Hale.  I assume you take after your mother?”  Which Stiles was as a tactful a way to ask someone about their species as you could hope for.

“Yes, sir.  Except that I’m Light.”

“Never seemed to make much difference to hear Claudia tell it.”

“Maybe not from the perspective of the Fae.  The humans the Dark enjoy brutalizing might have a different opinion, though.”  That squirming feeling started up again in Stiles’s gut.  Apparently tact was not one of Derek’s Fae superpowers.

“Am I to believe you feel compassion for your Kibbles ‘n’ Bits?”

“Cripes take it easy, Dad.  Derek’s not so bad?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the werewolf said sourly.

“How are you doing with all this, Scott?”

“Uh, fine, I guess.”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all this.  Life among the Fae can be rough on a human.”  His Dad wasn’t Sheriff for nothing; Scott’s twitch when he said that did not get past him.  “What.”

“He was bitten by an Alpha werewolf.  That’s what killed Laura.”

His Dad lost some of his head of steam “I’m very sorry for your loss, son, but to be honest I wish the two of you had stayed gone.”

“Me too,” Derek said quietly.

“So what happens now?” Stiles asked in the awkward pause.

“Now we have a little chat before you get ready for school in a couple of hours.  You three go have a seat while I put on a pot of coffee.”

 

Ten minutes later they were all seated around the living room, mugs in hand, waiting for someone to speak first.

Stiles decided to be the one to bite the bullet.  “How much do you know about Mom’s family?  Did she say what kind of Fae she was?”

“No, she never did.  She said it would be safer for me if I didn’t know.  That way if either her family or her husband’s ever came looking for her I’d be able to honestly say I had no idea.”

“Wait her _husband_!?” Stiles squeaked.

“Yes, she and your…biological father were married but he was killed shortly thereafter.”

“Is that why she went into hiding?” Scott asked

“Partly.  Mostly she said it was because she was Dark and had married someone from the Light.”

Derek had been holding himself back from the conversation (Stiles got the impression the Q & A at the motel may have used up the taciturn wolf’s word quota for an entire _month_ ) but that little nugget of information made him have an honest to God spit take.

“I take it that’s a no-no,” Stiles said while Derek coughed and tried to expel the coffee from his nose.

“Just...” _hack_ , “a bit.”

“It’s a capital offense,” his Dad said.  “But it was more than that.  She said Stiles was unique.  So much so that when the Fae found out about him neither side would stop until they either possessed him or killed him.”

“Did she know I would be-

“A dragon?  No.  She just said that she knew you had your Grandfather’s blood and that I had to do everything I could to keep you good and away from the other Fae until you were old enough to make your own decisions about what kind of man you wanted to be.”

“She said I would have a choice?”  Stiles was afraid to hope, but his Mother had believed he could overcome the allure of that pulsing red power within him it would go a long way towards convincing him of the same.

“You always have a choice, son.  Before she died she made arrangements with people she said she could trust.  People that could give you protection if you needed it.  I’m guessing that’s no longer an option,” he said looking at Derek.  It wasn’t really a question but the stony-faced man shook his head infinitesimally, to which his Dad sighed, resigned.

That explained an awful lot about Derek’s behavior, especially the occasional flashes of guilt and shame when he looked at Stiles.

His Dad’s face turned a shade grim “I’m guessing since that you’ve already met with the local representation for the Light and Dark that you’ve had your first feed?”  The three of them nodded mutely.  “How did it…I mean what did you…”

Stiles decided to spare his Father the agony of trying be supportive while simultaneously asking him if he killed and ate an innocent person “It’s okay, Dad, it was just a cow.”  Mostly.

“A magical golden cow,” Scott supplied, grinning like that was an achievement on Stiles’s part.  Thank you Scott.

“Uh huh.  Well I doubt they have those down at the Food Lion but I’m sure we can work something out.  I do know of someone who can…procure rare food items for Fae.  Maybe he can-

What, Stiles didn’t find out as their conversation was interrupted by something huge crashing through the living room window.  He’d seen drawings of these before, and Derek had even mentioned them earlier: a drake.  The lesser dragonkin was dark green, large scaled and slick looking, and about the size of a cougar.  The large recurved horns were ridged like a ram’s and jet black like its eyes and the hooked talons on its feet.  When it opened its mouth to shriek like a giant bird Stiles could see that its tongue and teeth were just as dark and dripping with viscous slobber.  Ew.

The monster threw itself on Scott first, slamming him into the love seat and slashing away with its claws.  Fortunately Scott only suffered a couple of vicious swipes before their combined weight overbalanced the chair and dumped them both on the floor tail over teakettle.

There was a roar that was more leonine than lupine as Derek shifted into a man-wolf hybrid that was mostly man but with claws and some serious sideburn action going on.  Stiles still thought he was hot.  Oh well, he figured he had thoroughly parted ways with human standards of just about everything when he grew claws and began biting livestock.

Derek jumped on the prone drake but it was impossibly strong and fast, writhing out from under him like a snake and sending him flying into a wall with the sweep of its heavy spike-tipped tail.  “Stiles!  It’s dragonkin you can command it!”

“Yeah sure.  Any ideas on the fuck I’m supposed to do that?”

Then the creature leapt at his Dad.  The Sheriff’s grizzly death scene was interrupted, however, when the drake impacted an invisible barrier a fraction of an inch away from his skin, recoiling with a pained hiss and slightly smoking claws.

The fact that his Dad was perfectly fine didn’t matter much to Stiles.  As soon as the creature had threatened the Sheriff, Stiles’s dragon came rushing to the surface.  For the second time in twelve hours he _roared_.

Derek and Scott flinched and put their hands over their ears, but the drake actually threw itself down in terror, lowering its head to the ground in a bizarre reptilian rendition of a bow.

Stiles did _not_ accept its capitulation.  He grabbed the servitor’s horns and twisted savagely, breaking its neck with a cacophony of cracking bone.  This time was much faster and easier with than with the bull.  He simply took a deep breath and pulled the drake’s essence into him in a rush of glowing scarlet motes.  He dropped the body and released his power with a contented sigh, feeling rather full.  “So…Looks like someone gets a new pair of boots.”

The Sheriff, Derek, and Scott looked at him like he’d lost his mind.  He was happy to see that the wounds the latter had sustained were healing before his eyes. 

“Dude check it out!  I’m like wolverine over here,” Scott said when he noticed.

Derek shook his head and looked up at the ceiling in askance.

“There’s something carved into its side,” his Dad said.  “Here, help me turn it over.”

Together they rolled the creature over to reveal a message that had been carved into its hide on one side near the belly where the scales were smaller:

_A Gift_

Underneath the words was a spiral.

“What the hell is that about?” Stiles asked no one in particular.

He was surprised when Derek answered, voice dripping rage “An offering.  The spiral is a lycan sigil.  It means vendetta, blood feud.  The Alpha wants revenge against someone.  It must be why he killed Laura, to use her power to get it.  Now he’s offering you an alliance.”

Maybe it was because he was tired from being up all night wrestling with supernatural creatures, maybe he was just totally and completely overwhelmed by the avalanche of revelations, but all he could think to say was: “What, the guy’s never heard of a text message?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Total NaNoWriMo word count day 5: 27331.


	3. How to Make Friends and Influence Fae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day back to school and Stiles is forced to deal with the headaches of being Fae in a human world while helping Scott do the same. His efforts are compromised by the arrival a new student and his long-running antagonism with a certain Fae on the lacrosse team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter than usual.

It turned out that, dietary issues aside, there were some perks to being Fae.  He was probably going to regret not saving the drake for later (actually he was trying not to think about it all, having gone all Voldemort _again_ ), but walking through the halls of his high school flush with power was a surreal experience, and one hell of an ego boost.  It may have just been the newly confident set of his shoulders or the sinuous grace that had seeped into his walk, but every head turned to look as he strutted by.

Scott remained slightly hunched in on himself but Stiles could tell he was enjoying the extra attention he was getting too.

His draconic nature would not be ignored, however.  Every person he saw was surrounded by their own unique aura of power that somehow combined color, texture, flavor, scent, sound, and temperature all in one big synethestic package.  If he got close enough he could “taste” them like he sampling was fine wines which creepy though it was had the gears in his head turning a mile a minute trying to puzzle out the meanings behind each variation he encountered.

Some of the students really stood out.  There were about a dozen all told, half of them people he’d never seen before, and they shined like LEDs in a sea of candles.  He was less than thrilled with the identities of the home contingent: to a one they were all members of Jackson Whittemore’s clique.  Stiles supposed that was hardly surprising given the kind of wealth and influence the Fae seemed to have, but still, nothing else had driven home for him just how deeply entwined the supernatural world was with the everyday like finding out that the who’s who of Beacon Hills High probably regarded the rest of the student body like he would the contents of a _vending machine_.

Poor Scott was having some growing pains of his own.  While Stiles had noticed a significant increase the acuity of his senses his best friend’s had been dialed up to eleven.  The dozens of whispered conversations that started up as they passed had Scott’s head twitching in so many directions as he tried to listen in the guy looked like he was developing a nasty case of Tourette’s.  When the first bell rang Stiles’s could have sworn he heard Scott whimper in pain at the sound.  But soon the werewolf’s ears perked up at a something else.  Stiles followed the direction of his gaze out the window and got his first look at what could only be Trouble with a capital T.  The new girl was beautiful with big brown eyes and long dark hair that fell in ringlets to her shoulders.  Stiles couldn’t make out what she was saying into her call phone but Scott definitely could.  Whatever it was the lovestruck expression growing on his face made Stiles wish he didn’t shave his head.  That way he’d have something to pull out in frustration.  Making goo-goo as eyes at humans seemed to be taboo to the Fae at the very least, and they’d all be in hot water if Scott lost control and ate her during a passionate make-out session.

When the girl walked into their class and sat down behind Scott it immediately became clear that Stiles didn’t need to worry about that last bit at all.  The girl was blazing like a star.  The weird thing was it was like her aura couldn’t make up its mind.  It was constantly shimmering back and forth between a hot and smoky red-black-gold-purple and a cool flowing blue-silver-white.  He desperately wished there was a handbook on interpreting this stuff.  Hell, maybe there _was_.  He decided a major Google Fu workout was in order after lacrosse. 

After class Stiles dragged Scott off to one side “Careful with her man, she’s…you know, _like us_.”  He tried to put as much warning into his significant glare as possible but he could see it run right off as Scott’s smile actually got brighter.

“Really?  That’s awesome!  I didn’t know what I was going to do if she was human.” Lies, Scott, lies.  “Wait, how do you know she’s…you know?   I’m the one with the super senses and I couldn’t tell for sure?”  He actually looked jealous that Stiles had been the one to uncover her secret.

“I guess it’s a dragon thing?  The point is she’s powerful and we don’t know her clan.  If she’s Dark you’ll have to back off.”  The mulish expression on Scott’s face said it all.  Stiles knew that look well enough to know this battle was lost before it had even begun.  “Fine,” he sighed throwing up his hands in exasperation, “but don’t come crying to me carrying your head when The Cuhullin chops it off.  See you at lunch.”  With that he stormed off to their next class intending to sulk.  He had little hope Scott would even notice as the teen wolf’s head was drifting higher and higher into the clouds right before Stiles’ eyes.  Maybe he could just eat her?  Scott would forgive eventually right?  He shuddered at the very thought of using her for a feed so the point was moot anyway.

 

The next universe jarring surprise came at lunch.  It seemed Lydia at immediately adopted the new girl, so when Allison sat down with him and Scott Lydia followed, dragging a reluctant Jackson and his hangers with her.  Stiles wondered what the two human teammates would think if they knew their lacrosse captain had dragged them to a table where _they_ were the hors d’ouvres.  Stiles snickered aloud while he looked back and forth between the unsuspecting boys and the gaggle of Fae seated around them, drawing narrowed-eyed glares from said Fae.

“So Allison,” Lydia began consigning Stiles once more to social invisibility even though she seemed willing to tolerate his presence.  He kind of wanted to melt at the attention and tacit approval.  Until he remembered her mother, that was.  On second thought, he decide being Fae pretty much sucked.

 

That evaluation was challenged once again when he went to the bathroom.  As he stepped out into the hall he was ambushed by Lydia and dragged by the ear into the nearest empty classroom.

“O ow ow!  Jeez you’re stronger than you look.”  He rubbed his ear, trying to memorize every glorious second of their first physical contact ever.

“What was that in there?  I know you’re new to this but we could all practically hear the food jokes rattling around in the void where your brain should be.”

“I guess your mother told you about me, huh?” he said sheepishly.

She snorted at that.  Lydia Martin _snorted_.  “Please, I doubt there’s a Fae in the Western hemisphere that hasn’t heard.  Actually, I think two of the new transfers are from Eastern Europe.  You’re famous.”

“Ugh, can I not be?  I’ve already got werewolf stalkers and scaly underfae crashing through my windows and it hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet.”

“Sorry honey,” she said with an overblown pout, patting him on the cheek a little too hard for her concern to be genuine, “but you have power _and_ noble blood.  That kind of thing attracts attention.  All eyes are going to be on you.  Think of it like being a celebrity.”

“So what, I’m the Fae answer to Kim Kardashian?” he asked horrified at the prospect.

She laughed delightedly “I guess you could say that.  Of course half your fanbase will be awfully disappointed when you declare your side.” 

Stiles might have been imagining it but it almost seemed like she was _flirting_ with _him_.  “Uh…uh…yeah.  Can’t disappoint my fans,” he said stammered, licking his lips nervously as she sidled closer, flipping her long strawberry-blond locks over her shoulder.

“Surviving in this worlds is all about who you know, what kind of connections you have.”  Her scarlet-rose-sapphire aura was pulsating around her.  He was pretty sure she was trying to entrance him or something, which was almost comically unnecessary.

“So…uh…what kind of Fae are you?”

“Hmmm that’s a very…intimate question among our kind.  It shows people where your…weak spots are.”  Stiles shuddered as she trailed a fingernail down his chest, introducing him to a few “weak spots” he hadn’t known about.  “But I suppose it’s only fair since I know all about you.  I’m a Libera.”  Stiles had no idea what that was beyond that it sounded Latin or something.  He barely restrained a whine of disappointment when Lydia backed away from him.  “Think about what I’ve said.  Now’s the perfect time to be thinking about future…alliances.”

She turned and swept out leaving Stiles alone in the classroom, breathing heavily and trying to figure out what the heck just happened.  Lydia had been coming on to him.  _Lydia_.  That or she was trying to influence him, turn him into one of her adoring followers.  If she had political ambitions having the world’s only dragon on leash would be a ticket straight to the top.  Stiles just had to figure out whether or not he’d mind being tied up by her. 

That thought sent another rush of superheated blood southwards, adding to the already uncomfortable situation he had going on in his jeans.  It took him a couple of minutes of deep breathing to calm down enough to head back to the cafeteria without causing a scene.

So he could add Lydia to the list of potential offers on the table.  It was funny but every time someone offered to become his ally his feeling that he was surrounded by enemies grew.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Five minutes into lacrosse practice it became agonizingly clear that Allison was not what Stiles should have been worrying about.  Scott was totally tripping on his newfound superpowers and pulling off moves that were just not humanly possible while a worried Danny and livid Jackson tried to step up their own game to make it less obvious.  Stiles couldn’t help but be a little amused by that.  Jackson had always been a tool.  Now that Stiles knew he was Fae it made a little more sense that he treated everyone but a select few as less than, not that that made it any more excusable.  It was delicious to see his face turn progressively redder as he tried and failed to show up Scott.  Jackson had always been an amazing player, but even though Stiles could now see he’d been holding back all this time the jackass still couldn’t compete with Scott who had been Fae for less than a day.  It was killing Jackson and Stiles was reveling in vindictive pleasure.

At least until his own turn on the field came up.  He hadn’t had a chance to assess what kind of physical power he’d gotten after chowing down on two huge underfae meals but now seemed like the perfect opportunity.  He opened up the well of red power and let it surge through his limbs.  He moved over the grass like a wisp of smoke, dodging and weaving, passing and intercepting, until he put a shot past Danny and scored the first goal of his life while everyone stared at him dumbstruck.  Coach Finstock’s whistle fell out of mouth and onto his clipboard with a clatter, and Scott hollered out his congratulations into the stunned silence, while the rest of the team stared at him like he’d grown a second head.  He surreptitiously raised a hand and ran it over his shoulders to check that hadn’t actually happened.  He still didn’t know what to expect and it never hurt to make sure after all.

Finstock recovered first, putting his whistle back in his mouth he blew two blasts on it and yelled “Okay, so Bilinksi figured out what to do with his stick.  Stop staring an get back to work.  Go go go!”  He blew another blast on the whistle and the drills resumed amid a chorus of snorts at the coach’s typical use of accidental double entendre.

Stiles kept up his superior performance careful to remain just a hair behind Scott.  As much as he struggling internally with all of this it had to be worse for Scott, who forced into this instead of being born Fae.  The newly minted werewolf was in for a world of hurt however this went but Stiles could make sure he got to have a moment of glory, even if it cost him one of his own.

It was around the end of practice when everything went straight to hell.  He had just finished scoring another goal, having joined an unbeatable blocking/shooting duo with Scott when caught sight of Derek lurking near the stands.  Stiles had thought the apoplexy Jackson was having at this point was beyond hilarious but he couldn’t find anything humorous about the fury glittering in those glowing steel-blue eyes.  He froze for a second, chagrin washing through him, before the aforementioned apoplectic tool got some payback by slamming into Stiles with the equivalent force of a small car.

He landed hard, breath whooshing out more from shock than pain, which made him wonder if there weren’t some actual internal changes going on besides the superficial increase in his physical abilities.  The pain came when Scott decided to avenge him, slamming into Jackson from behind as he stood gloating over Stiles.  The muscled young man landed right on top of him, thank you Scott, shoulder striking him directly in the solar plexus.  The surge of nausea was in no way helped by hearing and _feeling_ the sickening pop of Jackson’s shoulder dislocating.  Scott lifted him clean off Stiles and _threw_ him into Danny’s arms as he rushed over to help.

“Scott your eyes,” he whispered urgently.  The werewolf’s eyes were glowing brilliant yellow, his fangs beginning to peek out past his lips.

“Dude yours too.”

Stiles didn’t Scott to tell him that.  He had been holding his draconic nature close to the surface to draw power from it, but the flash of anger at Jackson’s stunt had shaken his control.  It was like a voice in the back of his head whispering, compelling him to put the lesser Fae in his place.  The arrogant child had dared to face him on a field of combat so his life was forfeit.  Stiles would devour his strength and lay waste to his allies so no one present would ever again have the audacity to challenge him so openly.

He shook off the crazy that was trying to overwhelm his thoughts.  It was a lot easier separating out the ludicrous from the sane when he was somewhere familiar doing normal things instead of surrounded by actual slavering monsters and sword-wielding Fae Lords.  Unfortunately, the power was still boiling just under his skin, which he could feel beginning to ripple in a way that sure to provoke exactly the wrong kinds of questions if anyone saw.

He heaved himself to his feet, leaning on Scott like he was hurt.  “I’m gonna take him to see the nurse.” His friend said to Finstock.

“Nurse!?  He needs to go the E.R.  Jackson’s ass isn’t exactly light; he might have internal bleeding or something.  That happened to my sister once.  She said she was fine and next thing you know they were cutting her leg off.  You wanna play lacrosse with only one leg, Bilinksi?”

Surprisingly, the Coach’s disarmingly bizarre rant helped him regain enough control to say “I’m fine, just got the wind knocked out of me.  Let’s go Scott.”  Together they made a show of hobbling off like they were running a three legged race together.

“You better not lose a leg because you both just made first line,” Finstock called after them.  Stiles imagined he could hear the steam whistling out of Jackson’s ears.

“Yes!” Scott hissed ecstatically (actually as far gone as Scott was it a _snarl_ ).  The young dragon just smiled red-eyed around a forest of fangs.

 

When they reach the locker room they threw themselves apart, stripping off their protective gear so it wouldn’t get ruined if they went claw happy on each other.

“Get away from me!” Scott yelled, “this is all your fault.”

“Whatever.”  Reasoning with Scott could be a challenge at the best of times.  Right now he was certain he’d literally be able to slam his head through a brick wall before making the werewolf see sense.

He may have put a tad too much sarcasm into his words because Scott finally went over the tipping point, claws extending as he leapt at Stiles.

Damn it, he was barely hanging on himself and didn’t know how long he could keep Scott off of him before he lost it too and they tore one another apart.

Fortunately their tussle was cut short by Derek brandishing a fire extinguisher, sending them both sputtering to the ground with a blast of icy chemical fog that temporarily stole the air from their lungs.  “What do you two morons think you’re doing!?  You haven’t got enough control to go the grocery store unsupervised and you thought playing a _contact sport_ was a good idea!?”  The older wolf looked calm but his colors were coruscating in a way that was making Stiles a little dizzy to watch.  The man was clearly _not_ okay.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.  If anything his apology made the brooding scowl deepen.

“Sorry won’t keep you alive.  Especially you, Scott.  I’m responsible for you so it’s my ass on the line.  You do as I say or don’t survive.”  He set the extinguisher down on a bench with a clang and took a deep breath.  “Now you two chuckleheads are coming with me, and bring your gear.”

“Why?  Where are we going?” Scot asked confused.

“Practice,” Derek said with a razor-edged smile.

 

They followed the older man out in the woods near the Hale House where he had them drop their gear in a pile and stand side by side, facing him.

“Back on the field, what made you shift?” he asked picking up Stiles’s stick, who barely managed not to grin remembering the Coach’s words earlier.

“Anger,” he said.  “Jackson took a cheap shot and it pissed me off.”

“The Fairy?” he scoffed.  “You’ll have to learn not to let pretentious asshats get under your skin.”

“Fairy!?” Scott asked outraged.  “Dude that’s seriously not cool.  Besides, Jackson’s been dating Lydia forever, he’s totally into girls.”

  
Derek stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Scott I think he’s being literal,” Stiles said when it clicked.  They were totally not in Kansas anymore.

“Huh?  Oh!  Wait, really?  How come he doesn’t have wings and stuff?”

“He’s a Fairy Prince,” Derek sighed.  Stiles was starting to find that sound endearing God help him.  “It’s not a royalty thing just a classification, at least not anymore.”

Stiles was intrigued by that last part but something wasn’t adding up  “So does that mean the Whittemore’s are Fae too?  They’re his adopted parents, right?”

“As far as I know they’re human, which makes sense.  Jackson smells a bit…puckish.  He’s probably a changeling.”

“You mean that whole fairy switched at birth deal?  We do that?”

“It’s the custom among Pucks.  They like to disguise themselves and sleep with married Fae women.  Jackson was probably the byproduct of one of those encounters.

Stiles groaned at that “Stop making me have sympathy for him you jerk.”

“So…back to why we’re here?” Scott asked.  Stiles could see the “words get a room” dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Anger,” Derek said, continuing the lesson, “also lust, pain, adrenaline, anything that provokes you can trigger the shift.  I’m going to provoke you and you have to not shift.  Simple.”

“How are you..?” Stiles started to ask before the werewolf rammed the butt end of the stick into his stomach.  “Ow,” he said eloquently.  He was pissed at Derek for doing that but it wasn’t the deranged dragon rage from before.  “Nothing’s happening, ass.”

“I didn’t think it would.  This on the other hand…”  He reversed his grip and clocked Scott across the jaw, ending him sprawling into the leaf litter.

It took the new wolf several deep breaths but he seemed to manage to separate his anger at getting hit from his general anger at the necessity of the situation and held on, if barely.

Stiles didn’t do as well.  His claws and fangs extended as he sized up his foe.  Derek was older and had experience.  He might not have been a real Alpha, but they were still on his ancestral land where he held authority so he unlikely to be cowed into submission by Stiles voice.  That left violence.

Derek shifted as he was attacked.  Stiles knew those claws were supernaturally sharp.  He diverted more power into his skin, hardening it to turn aside slashes and bites.  When he was done he looked at his hands in shock.  Red-black scales had covered his arms, smaller and darker on the underside and shimmering in the half light in the afternoon forest.

“You stopped your attack.  How?” Derek asked.  He’d shifted back at some point and was leaning casually against a tree watching Stiles marvel at himself.

He transformed back embarrassed “I was thinking about strategy.  Then I used some of the anger to make the scale-thing happen and…my head just kind of cleared up.”

Derek nodded “Dragons are proud and possessive by nature.  Me hitting you was just annoying; I’d have to really try to actually hurt you.  But Jackson trying to humiliate you in public or me attacking your friend was different.  Try thinking of ways to release the energy if too much rises at once.  Preferably ones that don’t involve growing horns and a tail.”

“Whoa, can I actually do that!?”  That would be so cool.  Dragons were shape shifters according to legend but as much as he wanted explore his powers he wasn’t eager to start draining his energy reserves.  He’d have to feed if he did and he still didn’t know how was going to manage without treating his English class like a continental breakfast.

Derek shrugged noncommittally before turning to Scott “How did you keep from shifting.”  Scott’s cheeks colored a bit at the question, setting off Stiles’s alarms.  _Please_ don’t let it be what he thought it was. 

“Well uh…I started thinking about why I had to have control, you know?  Why I really _need_ to be human?  And there was this new girl in school today and I asked her to this party on Friday and she actually said yes,” Scott finished in a rush, that dreamy look returning with a vengeance.

Derek looked like he wanted throttle him “You want to go to a party on your first Full Moon as a werewolf?  How about I save time and trouble and tear your head off myself right here and now.”

“I have to go!  How else will I find out if Allison likes me?”  There were times that Stiles admired Scott for his ability to focus on one thing with a vengeance the way his ADD riddled brain never let him.  This was not one of them.

“Allison?  Allison _Argent_!?”  Oh, snap.  “You want to risk exposing yourself and getting us both killed along with half the student body so you can go on a _date_ with The Fucking Cuhullin’s _daughter_!?”  Stiles had been wrong before.  This was what it looked like when Derek wanted to kill somebody.

He’d been right about something else though: the girl was indeed Trouble with a capital T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be revealing the fae natures of Lydia, Danny, and Allison in the next chapter.


	4. Fae's Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the Full Moon and Lydia's party rolls around.
> 
> Scott is easier to manage than expected with a little help from new friends.
> 
> The local fae kids introduce Stiles to their favorite and...unique way to party.
> 
> Stiles finally gets the object of his affection. Sort of, and a whole lot more Jackson than he ever thought about, much less wanted.
> 
> The Alpha has party plans of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the relationship tags because this chapter happened. I never liked Stydia, and Stackson has potential but would take so much to develop it's not worth it as a side relationship. But the three of them together? It's weird, codependent, and a little bent. Delicious.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm super loopy today so please forgive the typos. No matter how many times I go over it they don't decrease in number somehow.

By the time Friday rolled around Stiles had upped their estimated odds of surviving the party to a whopping fifty percent, but Scott would not be dissuaded from his mid-teen crisis.  After repeatedly throwing the stubborn new Fae into a tree didn’t make any headway Derek had given up, instructing Stiles to eat Scott when he lost control and put all three of them out of their misery.  It didn’t help that sole agenda for going was to get closer to Allison.  The brooding werewolf’s antipathy for the Argent Clan was a little over the top and nearly had steam coming out of his ears any time he _heard_ the word “party”.

Scott’s control _had_ grown by leaps and bounds.  All it took was hearing the word Allison for him to banish the wolf in a second or two, although Derek said the Full Moon would be a hundred times worse.

Stiles was doing better too.  He could now use his abilities without going off on a power trip and wanting to conquer and rape and pillage or whatever it was dragons did back in the day before they had Xbox Live to sublimate their impulses by owning complete strangers in FPS’s.

“Are you sure about this?  She sits with us every day at lunch.  You _have_ to know she likes you.”

“I’m doing this.”  His face was a picture of determination.  It was adorable in an infuriatingly frustrating kind of way.

Stiles had other reasons for not wanting to be here.  Lydia had captured him the day before after lacrosse practice and dragged him shopping for “a wardrobe befitting his station”, compliments of the Light.  He strongly suspected the truth was that she just couldn’t bear the thought of running in the same social circle with his plaid flannel.  Now here was standing in the Martin’s driveway wearing one of her pre-approved outfits.  The shiny black button down had abstract scarlet flames curling up the sides to meet between his shoulder blades and was so well fitted to him he looked like he had _pecs_.  His khaki cargo pants showed off his ass in a way that made him incredibly self conscious, and where the hell had she even found converse in solid red and black.  All he needed was needed was an ironic hat to complete the image of a demon summoned from some hipster hell dimension (complete with _leather wrist cuff_ ).  The only thing that didn’t make him want to go dumpster diving after his old clothes was the pendant that hung just below the hollow of his throat on a thin choker of braided black leather.  It was a single Chinese character carved from a piece of red jade.  When he’d asked Lydia what it meant she’d given a look that said she was wondering why she was bothering with someone so dense.

“You look fine,” Scott said, noticing him spastically buttoning and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt.  “Don’t worry, I’m sure Derek’s lurking around here somewhere creeping on the high school students.”

“Derek who?”  Smooth, Stiles, super cool and nonchalant.

“Uh huh.”  Scott took a deep breath to fortify himself “Let’s do this.”  Apparently his best friend felt they were in an action movie instead of a rom-com.  Of course, by the end of the night they’d probably end up covering both fairly comprehensively.

The place was packed.  Stiles took advantage of enhanced physical prowess to snag about half a dozen unattended drinks while they painstakingly wended their way out to the patio where Lydia was holding court.  Now that he knew what she was the whole setup seemed blatantly unsubtle what with the braziers burning illuminating the churning sea of teenage revelers.  At least as a Libera she was a little bit less terrifying than her maenad mother, although parsing out the subtleties of the different varieties of Bacchae seemed like a pointless exercise.  According to Derek her Father was a selkie, one of those seal mermaid things, and her personal magnetism was actually a pervasive form of hypnosis.  She and the other Fae students were arranged en tableau in their Friday night finest, sprawled over deck furniture that could have come from Caesar’s parlor.  The image was straight off the side of a _vase_ and it made him giggle a bit as the mix of random cocktails assaulted his brain-mouth filter.

Lydia’s pleasantly predatory smile brightened when she spied him before vanished in a flash of vexation and narrowed eyes as noticed the jittery Scott at his elbow.

“Queen Bee inbound,” he whispered sotto voce.

“Is Allison with her?”  One.  Track.  Mind.

“Come on.”

The crowd parted before them with suspicious ease, opening up a direct path waiting group of Fae.  “Show off,” he muttered.

“Stiles!” Lydia greeted him with a kiss on each cheek and a lot of fussing over his clothes.  “Am I a genius or what?” she asked presenting him to the group.  Hopefully he wouldn’t have two lips shaped blushes on his cheeks for the rest of the night.

“He looked like he stole his old clothes off a dead hobo so just about anything’s an improvement,” said a familiarly sour voice.

“Hey Jerk-son!  How’s the shoulder?”  The fairy (never no going to be funny) looked like he was wishing his fae powers included melting people with his sizzling eye beams.

Lydia watched this exchange with an unsavory amount of amusement on her face.  “Boys play nice, at least until we really get this party started.”  He leaned in close to Stiles “Then maybe later I’ll take the two of you someplace private and we can play naughty.”

Stiles’ talons extended without his permission garnering a chorus of stifled titters from the fae girls present.  “No fair,” he said while Lydia grinned shamelessly, taking his arm while Jackson scowled and stood.  Stiles would rather chew off his own lips than kiss Jackson.  Sure the guy was gorgeous but there was a point where personality became so abysmal that note even those cute freckles could you.  Then again, the jackass’s aura looked delicious, all summery yellow-greens and bright emerald with nimble streaks of dark indigo dancing through, and Stiles really wanted to practice the non-violent method of feeding.  Well, not violent but probably still a little rough.  A safe word might be a good idea.

Scott, who had been busy exchanging coy glances with Allison, stared at them slack-jawed for a second before bursting out laughing.

“Come,” Lydia commanded the group, “let’s retire to the study for some drinks.”

 

Stiles fondled the bottle of Scotch in awe “Glenn McKenna, aged fifty-three years.  This is almost as old as my _Dad_.”

“Your Dad’s that old?  He doesn’t look it.”  The werewolf was practically vibrating with the tension of the Full Moon.

“Yeah he’s aging well we should really find a way to get you calmed down.”

“I’m fine,” he snarled, putting his fist through a solid mahogany end table.

“Give me the bottle,” Lydia sighed.  She took a long swig of the dark amber liquid, which briefly glowed with wine-colored light that was reflected in her eyes.  She handed it back to Scott who eyed it dubiously before gulping down a huge belt of the stuff.  Immediately his eyes changed from their feral yellow to wine red before fading all together.

“Wow,” he sounded a little spaced.

“Now that that’s taken care of it’s time for introductions.”

Lydia took him around the room while Scott watched his own claws flick in and out mesmerized.  Stiles knew her, Danny, and Jackson well.  The other three locals were less familiar.  Sara and Mara were a pair of cousins that could pass for sisters and served as head acolytes of the strawberry-blond goddess.  They were short, curvy, and had Mediterranean coloring, which made them cut quite a contrast to the towering rail-thin guy they were draped over on the love seat.  Zachariah (not Zach, no no no) was blond, pale skinned and blue eyed, and looked so washed out Stiles thought he might disappear if he turned sideways.  He was a friend of Jackson’s and quasi-ex of Danny’s, even though they shared no common interest as far as Stiles knew.

The newcomers looked a teen version of a UN summit.  There was Callum, Cockney voiced and hipster dressed (he did have the ironic hat) but with fangs peeking out that screamed vampire.  Happily chatting away with him in Portuguese was a guy from Brazil named Gabriel who may as well have been wearing a soccer ball on his head he was so decked out in fan paraphernalia. Perpetually drifting along behind Jackson was Bennu, who could have been Cleopatra reincarnated swathed in white and gold silk and incredibly tall sandals.  Stiles was having a hard time keeping his eyeballs from falling out of his head when he looked at her.  Last but in no way least was Chun Fen, a transplant from China that was the size of an ox but drifted along like he was floating.  Add in Stiles, Scott and Allison (who quickly progressed to aggressively shy flirting) and there you had it.  Thirteen fae in the study with a bottle of Scotch.  It sounded like the setup to a bad joke.  Or a murder mystery.

Stiles resolutely closed off his perception of their combined auras before he went into an epileptic seizure.  He stood awkwardly off by himself while the others mingled.  Lydia hadn’t introduced him as the GRD so he was content to enjoy the temporary breathing room since it wasn’t going to take long before people put together his talons and the fact he was literally wearing the word “dragon” around his neck.

“So, what’s the plan?” Callum asked once the meeting and greeting petered out.  “Guessing there’s not a lot in the way of nightlife ‘round here?”

“We’re going to play spin the bottle,” Jackson said like he was daring someone to make an ass out of themselves by scoffing.”

“Spin the bottle?” Allison asked incredulously.

“We play it a little different,” Danny put in.

“First, we get to drink the bottle.”  Jackson snatched it out of Scott’s hand and took a swig.

Anything that made the fairy smile like that was cause for alarm in Stiles’s mind.  But when the bottle came around to him (last, naturally) he said “Aw hell, you’re only immortal once, right?” and drained the remainder while the room cheered.  He could feel the warm fingers of the magic hooch massages away all his cares and pains from the inside out.  If nothing else this was going to be fun while it lasted.

 

They went back out to the main party where Lydia dialed up her mojo to eleven, cranking up the music as the fae waded into the sea of teenage humanity that broke out into weirdly synchronized and extremely dirty dancing.  It kind of reminded Stiles of those balls of garter snakes you’d see during mating season, but as the potion did its work his runaway brain went blissfully silent.  Eventually the fae kids wound up in the center, the human mass circulating around like the slow spiral of a hurricane.  He could see and feel a number of different influences at work on the crowd as each person in the group threw their weight behind the building energy of the party.

“Use your Voice,” Lydia whispered to him at one point when he was sandwiched between her and Jackson, and ye gods the nightmares he was having later from his nemesis’s hips grinding against his ass.  It was in no way hot and he was prepared to testify to that under oath.  Stiles wasn’t entirely sure what she meant so he just started humming along to the music as much as was possible with the throbbing techno.  After a few minutes of feeling like the world’s biggest tool he listened to the buzz of power that was looping back and forth from fae and food, letting his voice fall into a sub audible register and sliding in some of the hungry red fire from his core.  The reaction was immediate.  The various forms of suggestion the fae had been spinning out merged and became an imperative, ratcheting the pulse of the party up from bash to blowout, as every aura in the place merged into a single shimmering scarlet corona.

This was apparently what Lydia had been waiting for as she signaled for the group to withdraw back to the study.

“I was wrong.  Screw Piccadilly I’m having my Gathering afterparty here,” Callum said into the relative quiet, wiping his brow with an actual handkerchief before replacing his hat.  “Seems like a right shame to stop for kid’s games.”

“Just wait,” Jackson said with a wink.  “This is where things get different.  We’re going to feed.  Normally Lydia does this part but sadly it looks like our “guest of honor” is going to have to take over because he doesn’t have enough control not to take over the spell by force.”  Jackson’s glaring at him held only a fraction of its usual loathing, clearly the communal buzz they had going was enough to soften even him.

Wait, what?  “Uh, which part would that be?”

Jackson rolled his eyes “It’s not that complicated, Stilinski.  You spin the bottle and kiss whoever it lands on.  Lydia’s connected all of us like she connected with the humans so she could feed.  You’ll feed on the crowd by pulling it through us.  We all get an easy meal, and one hell of a rush.”

“Uh, can we pass?” Scott asked from where Allison was pinning him to a chair in a passable imitation of hungry starfish.  Stiles did not want to kiss Scott in any way shape or form but still felt a little hurt at his best friend’s rejection.  It was funny that he could grow steel hard scales and still needed to develop a thicker skin.

“Whatever,” Jackson said, clearly thrilled at Scott being in any way excluded.

“Heh, well, I guess I’ll just…”  Stiles put the bottle on the floor in the middle of the room while the ten Fae that would actually deign to kiss him (seriously, self-esteem, he was ordering some self-help books first thing tomorrow) pulled the furniture into a tight circle around him.  His first spin landed on, surprise surprise, Jackson.  “If anyone even thinks about taking a picture I will eat them,” he said seriously.  Everyone found that hilarious, exploding into tipsy cackling.  Except for Scott who was too busy trying to find Allison’s uvula with his tongue to find anything funny.

Jackson leaned back in the armless chair he was sitting in, sliding his hips forward to the edge of the cushion and closing his legs “Well come on, stud, I don’t have all night,” he mocked.

The ass had positioned himself so that Stiles would practically have to give him a lap dance to get at his mouth.  Too bad for him the dragon was hungry from using his power and had a high tolerance for public humiliation.  Besides, who could resist a good game of Gay Chicken?

Stiles trudged up to him like he was headed for the gallows, watching Jackson’s smirk grow more self-satisfied as he fell deeper into a false sense of security.  After a second of deliberate hesitation in front smug fairy prince, he straddled his lap in a lightning-fast motion and pulled him up by hi shirt into a bruising kiss.

He must have lost track of things for a moment because after a while Jackson broke it off asking “Are you actually going to start feeding at some point,” in a husky voice.

“We don’t mind waiting.” Lydia and Danny said in unison.  Noises of agreement came from most of the others.”

“Right, feeding,” he murmured blushing furiously and finding the scarlet energy that pulsed through the house in time to Stiles’s own heart.  This time as he kissed Jackson he pulled at it where it was filtering into the fairy’s aura, and Jesus Christ he could see why all the cool kids were doing this.  The energy of all those humans bound together by Lydia’s influence and seasoned with several different varieties of fae hoodoo hit him like a punch in the gut.  It was beyond delicious and the strong sensual edge to it only made it all the more exciting.  If the way Jackson was arched under him shuddering and leaning into the pull was any indication, being the one channeling the energy was even more intense.  This was as good a feed as he’d had yet, and without any blood too.  Oops, a little blood, he saw as he released the dazed Jackson’s lips.  His talons had come out at some point and dug into one side of the other boy’s neck, drawing tiny rivulets of blood.  Their chi was all tangled up anyway so Stiles let a tiny spark of his own essence flit into the wounds, healing them as he licked the blood off in a long slow stripe.

“God damn you’re strong,” Jackson said between heaving breaths.  “That’s more than I eat in a _week_.”  From the state Lydia was in it seemed she’d felt it right along with him, which Stiles supposed made sense since she was the once maintaining the channel.

“I guess it’s time to spin again,” he said hoarsely as clambered off Jackson, both ignoring their mutual shiver as the tents in their pants brushed against each other during the motion.  Stiles wasn’t sure if it still qualified as a “guy thing” if they’d just been making out enthusiastically but decided to go with it.  Even if it wasn’t he could still chalk it up to a _teenage_ guy thing, because it would take more than a shared feeding to make him actually _like_ Jackson.  He suddenly found himself wishing it could be Derek here with him instead.  On second thought, he realized it was probably best he wasn’t.  Stiles would be liable to get _too_ enthusiastic and end up draining half the high school dry.

This time when he spun the rest of the group that had only gotten to watch thus far leaned forward  in suspense, only to groan loudly when the bottle stopped spinning, pointing right back at Jackson.

“Uh, I don’t know if you’re ready to go again but-

“Yes!  I mean, yes I could stand a little more.”  Jackson was trying for nonchalant but the hunger he felt was written clearly on the face of every fae in the room, Scott and Allison having left at some point during the kiss.

“Well, ladies and gents I think we can all see where _this_ is headed,” Callum proclaimed, “what say we leave these three to it and go back to the party?  Get something to eat before they nosh the whole bloody place?”

The group’s expressions ranged from frustrated and wistful to relieved and grateful, but as one they got up and scrambled for the door, Callum last out and closing the door behind him with a wink.

“God, I just want to shove a sock in that guy’s mouth every time he talks,” Jackson muttered.

“Why?  Is his accent too harsh on your precious pointy ears?”

“Shut-

Stiles cut off his retort by darting in to capture his lips in a quick kiss, drawing a burst of energy through Jackson and neatly cutting off his retort.

“I knew you too could figure out how to get along,” Lydia drawled as she leered at the two of them.  Seeing Stiles kiss her boyfriend really seemed to do it for her and wasn’t about to deny her.  Not when he was about finally get in real life what he’d been dreaming of for years.  Granted in no version of his Lydia-centric fantasies was Jackson there, but Stiles knew how to roll with the punches.

She sashayed over to them and pulled his head down into their first kiss.  Her lips were soft, the scent of her rich and sweet, making his head spin.  The feeling of her body pressing against his was every bit as pants-rendingly wonderful as he’d always knew it would be.  He cursed his grim fate when the desire for a different, harder body intruded and for a second he wanted the lips on his to be surrounded by stubble, the scent filling his nose to be hotter, spicier.  Fuck it he could still enjoy this moment.  It was only natural to set your sights on a new, higher goal when you complete the one you’ve been working on.  Besides, if he and Lydia both chose the light they could include Derek in these little soirees and Stiles could have _everything_ he wanted.

It was definitely something to think on later.  Right now he was preoccupied by Jackson’s erection pressing against his ass as he pulled their hips together roughly, allowing Lydia to tear open his shirt in a hail of buttons.  She vamped onto his lips while her boyfriend pulled his shirt down off his shoulders.  Holy crap he was going to lose both his virginities, possibly all three actually, to the hottest guy and girl in school.  Lydia soft hands and sharp nails roamed over his head and clawed at his back while Jackson’s larger, rougher hands moved over his chest, playing with his nipples and sliding between where he and Lydia ground together to grip him through the front of his pants.  Stiles suspected he was taking a spot that Danny had filled more than once from the sure way Jackson went about teasing him while methodically rolling his hips against Stiles’s ass to keep up the friction against the hardness straining the denim of his tight designer jeans.

With every breath Stiles fed, pulling glowing crimson through every point of contact until it just wasn’t enough anymore.  Lydia stopped kissing him and walked around to stand behind Jackson, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal the smooth sculpted torso that he’d envied every time he saw it in the locker room.  “Take him,” she said, her eyes shining like road flares with wine-colored light.  “Take him and have us both.”  She slowly ran her hands down her boyfriend’s chest until she reached the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button fly and allowing his dick to spring free.   Naturally it was impressive as everything else about him, the bastard, but when Stiles looked in his eyes he didn’t see smug satisfaction or gloating pride, just want and need that looked intense to the point of pain.  He’d never really thought _anyone_ would look at him that way and now these two beautiful creatures both were.

Screw self-help books _this_ was the secret to building confidence.

Jackson whimpered in relief when Stiles talonned hand cupped the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss that was worlds gentler and more reassuring than the ones before.  Stiles _very_ carefully took the length of him in his other hand and began pumping it in firm even strokes that sped up as the kiss heated and deepened.

“Stiles,” Lydia called while Jackson moaned into his mouth.

Sensing it was time he pulled on the energy as hard as he could, ripping a tidal wave of sexually charged chi through the two of them who cried out in ecstasy and fell forward onto him as they shook from what looked like truly world-shattering orgasms.  It was hands down the hottest thing he’d ever seen.  He was also incredibly jealous.  Then again, it wasn’t even midnight.  They had all night for him to get caught up, or at least until the human batteries downstairs got tired out.

He maneuvered them onto the couch so they could catch their breath before round two.  It was easier than he’d expected, but then again he’d devoured so much life essence he could probably bench press a pickup right now without breaking a sweat.

He was also still painfully aroused and borderline desperate.  Fortunately the two people on the couch were no more human than he was and were recovering right in front of his eyes.  “Okay,” he started, undoing his belt, “how do we…”  He’d been planning to talk positions.  Since he had a teenage libido, an internet connection, and admittedly eclectic tastes, he had lots of ideas and was eager to see how many they could try out.  But he trailed off with a worried frown when he felt…something approaching.

It looked like it wasn’t just his physical powers that were growing, he could sense a powerful presence, dark red and black and purple like dried blood.  It felt corrupt and scarred somehow.  It was also familiar and very _very_ close.

“What?” Jackson asked confused just before a deafening howl-roar rattled the windows in their frames.

Lydia gasped and jerked like she’d been slapped “Scott!  He’s been cut off from me!  We have to get him out of here before-

She was cut off by the sound of one of the bay windows in the foyer exploding inward.

“It’s the Alpha!  He’s here for Scott!”  He let out a brief roar of his own, calling the other fae in the house to him as he burst out of the study and ran to the broken window where Allison lay on the floor bleeding from a cut on her forehead.

“He took Scott,” she said while Stiles helped her up.  Her eyes widened when she took in his state of undress, shirt gone and belt undone.  They got even wider when Lydia arrived with Jackson, who was just as shirtless but whose fly was also unbuttoned and about half a centimeter from giving the whole party a show.

He was about to say “We’re going to take him back” like every B action hero ever when the screams started.  The Alpha had broken the window by throwing a body through it.  It was an older man, heavyset and vaguely familiar but he had other priorities.  “My Dad can handle this, he’s on call and knows…who’s here.  We follow the Alpha.”

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Callum asked, absently licking his fangs when he saw the bloody corpse.  Ew.

By now the Fae had all gathered and the humans scattered.  When spoke it was with red eyes and absolute authority.  “My friend has been taken.  Anyone who comes with me on the hunt will put me in their debt.  Any takers?”

 

Since they really didn’t have time to wait it was just the Beacon Hills contingent, plus Allison, that set off into the woods.  It was especially weird to see Lydia barefoot bounding between the trees like a gazelle.  Stiles skidded to a halt when he caught a whiff of death as they crossed into the preserve.  According to the report he’d read this was where Laura’s lower half had been found.

The fucker was playing games with them.

He waited until the others caught up to him so they could coordinate a plan of attack.  Some of them had brought party favors.  Allison brought a bow and quiver, Lydia carried what he recognized as a thyrsus wand, and Jackson had a fricking broadsword on a baldric slung over his bare torso.  Stiles couldn’t help it, he found that look extremely hot on the fairy prince. His possessive inner dragon had apparently decided Jackson was _his_. Marvelous.  “Okay, war meeting.  What assets are we packing?”

Those with weapons lifted them in response. Stiles arched an expectant brow at the rest.

“We’re sirens,” Mara and Sara said in unison.  “We can disorient or repel the beast if we get close enough,” Sara finished.

“Range?”

“For most effect?  Ten yards.”

“Groovy.  How about you Mahealani?”

Danny just smiled for a second before his eyes glowed golden as he transformed into a great horned owl and took off with a screech.

“Kapua,” Jackson said by way of explanation.

“Right, Kapua, of course.  Okay so we’ve got two melee fighters, an archer, a sorceress, two debuffs, and aerial reconnaissance.  What do have to round out this D&D campaign, Zachariah?”

“Misdirection.”  He vanished in a puff of pale glowing mist.

“A hinkypunk.  Remember when _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ wasn’t homework for my life?” he asked no one in particular.

“Maybe we should call my father,” Allison offered.

“No.  We’re on Light territory now.  Derek will be out here somewhere waiting for us to move in.  Our primary objective is to get Scott away from the Alpha.  After that it’s cripple and contain so Derek can finish him so everything is legal and aboveboard and will in no way spark a global war between the clans.  Everyone understand?”  They all nodded solemnly, looking less like normal human teenagers than ever before.  They were Fae, this was the world they were born into, the one that lingered still in dark woods and deep places.  “Let’s go.”

He shifted into dragon form.  One day he’d supposedly be able to shape shift into just about anything he could think of, but for now he focusing on learning the ins and outs of his iconic shape.  He kicked off his shoes so the bones in his feet could rearrange into grasping three toed feet that resembled those of a velociraptor as he extended scarlet and black armored scales over his body that would hopefully turn aside the claws of an Alpha werewolf.  He kept his face only a little reptilian but added something new he’d been practicing: horns.  They swept forward from the parietal bones of his skull in a vaguely bull-like fashion, extending over two feet to end in wickedly sharp points.  Someday he’d work up to full dragon, but for now he figured this cut a respectable figure, especially since he also gained an additional six inches of height and fifty pounds of muscle.

He lifted his nose to the wind to catch the scent before taking off in hot pursuit, occasionally course correcting at a screech from owl!Danny.  After only a few minutes they’d doubled back towards town and out of Derek’s territory, emerging from the forest on an empty street.  Empty except for an SUV with a window smashed out.  Scott lay in the middle of the road with a boot pressing down on his throat.  The boot belonged to a striking woman in her twenties (or looked to be at any rate) who had an _assault rifle_ pointed right at his head.

Stiles was about to leap into the fray with a roar when Allison said “Aunt Kate?”

“See?  What did I tell you my dear?” said an old man emerging from the shadows on the other side of the vehicle.  “Obviously this wayward pup belongs to someone, even if he does appear to have slipped his collar.”

“And this would be?” Stiles growled, the air shaking with his rage.

“My grandfather, Gerard, The Ogma.”

Of course he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, the plot leaps forward with a double-barrel dose of Argent crazies.
> 
> Next time:
> 
> The Ogma makes his official pitch and the bodies continue to fall as the mysterious Alpha pursues his vendetta. When people are hurt in the crossfire Stiles gets advice from an unexpected source.


	5. Fae-ry Tales and Hookups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is introduced to The Ogma and The Elder, but their Q & A session is highjacked by the Sheriff, who tells him his mother's version of his family history not trusting the Fae Elders. Sure enough, Gerard tries to sell him on joining the Dark and does it well.
> 
> Later, Derek calls Stiles to deal with Scott in the aftermath of his injuries. Things take a turn for the complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here is some more exposition (sorry). But on the plus side: Sterek. Also BAMF Sheriff Stilinski.
> 
> Today was my first time not meeting my deadline (only 40 minutes late but still). Consequently this chapter was spammed out and is probably comically full of errors. Oh wee, it was bound to happen eventually. The fact that I made it almost halfway before it did is kind of remarkable.

“Seriously?  Dr. Deaton?  The _Vet_?”  Stiles liked the guy well enough but taking a werewolf to animal doctor for medical attention was a little too on those nose even for him.

“I’ve known Alan for a long time.  Besides it’s about time the three of us had a sit down.”  Stiles did _not_ like Gerard, the creepy, Shakespeare quoting, shot-his-best-friend-with-wolfsbane-bullets psycho.  There was something else that really bothered him about the old man but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Deaton met them at the door, admitting what had to be the most bizarre procession the veterinary clinic’s history.  Stiles carried the semi-conscious Scott, escorted by an honor guard of Jackson, Lydia, and Danny who seemed to have appointed themselves his retainers.  Or maybe it was a just a grouping instinct inspired by the presence of a predator.  The Ogma _and his son_ the Cuhullin followed them in, trailed by a massively uncomfortable-looking Allison.

“I see your heritage has caught up with you Mr. Stilinski.”

“Hey, Doc.  Nice to see ya.  How’s the fam?  Oh, and would please pull the freaking poisoned bullets out of your employee now?”  He was talking so high and fast the glass windows were in jeopardy but was beyond caring about what people thought of how he sounded.

“Excellent idea.  How about I accompany you back.  I have some experience with these kinds of wounds after all.”  It was amazing how much threat the small old man could squeeze into a single sentence.

“Fine, whatever!  After you, Emperor, you can tempt me towards the Dark Side just as soon as Scott’s not dripping black goo out of his sucking chest wound.”  Damn he was a hair’s breadth from losing control and eating the man.  The guy was a like a thousand, maybe _literally_ , so he probably wouldn’t get much in the way of nutrition but it would sure as hell would make him feel better.

“As you command your grace,” the old fae said with a head bob that was somewhere between a nod and a bow.

“We need to hurry,” Deaton snapped, unamused by the exchange. He led them into a back room with a metal table that made Stiles think more of a mortuary more than an operating room.  “Aconite?”

“Here.”  Gerard handed him a small wooden box with a leaf engraved on it.  The Vet removed a bullet from it and sniffed it, looking worriedly at Scott.

“The antidote’s not going to be enough, he’ too far gone.  The poison is already in his heart.”

“Fuck that you have do something!”  Stiles was full on _roaring_ now, claws shredding the edge of the table like it was made of cheese instead of steel.

“I will but I need your help.  Wait there.”  The man hurried about the room gathering a number of small jars and vials and dumping their contents into a small earthenware bowl.  He stuck a finger in the mixture and ran it over his tongue, rolling it around like he was sampling a fine wine.  Nodding to himself he broke open the bullet and dumped the powder/wolfsbane mixture in with the rest.  “Now Stiles, I need some of your-

“Blood, got it.  Magical dragon juice coming right up.”  He curled his claws into his palm, breaking the skin drawing five gleaming beads of red so vibrant it was nearly luminescent.  Deaton held out the bowl as he very carefully turned his hand over, allowing the drops of blood to run down his claws and into the concoction.

There was a rush of imploding air as narrow vortex of swirling white fire erupted from the bowl.  The flames were bright as a magnesium flare but cast no illumination.  Instead the room got briefly darker as though the light had been gathered in one spot.  It vanished in a second, leaving behind a bowl of crystal clear liquid lit from within with a purest white radiance.

“Good Gods was it supposed to do that?” Gerard asked stunned.

Deaton looked just as flabbergasted “No.  I’ve never seen anything like that before.  It was supposed to burn but I was expecting a small red flame.  You definitely have some non-dragon blood.  Actually I’d say you were half-dragon at most.”

Both of them turned evaluating eyes on Stiles, who abruptly felt naked under the combined weight of their piercing stares.  “Don’t look at _me_.”  He gestured at mostly dead boy on the table _“Do you mind!?”_

The (not)Vet lifted up Scott’s head and poured the contents of the bowl down his throat.  White fire smoked in the wounds on his chest, burning away the creeping black putrescence with an iridescent shimmer.  The teen wolf sucked in a huge gasping breath, eyes flying open to reveal irises shining with that same prismatic purity.  “Holy crap!”  He started coughing violently the glow of his eyes returned to its normal gold.  Gerard stuck out a hand as Scott lurched up to sitting, and caught the bullet that came flying out of his mouth.  “Gah!” he squawked as Stiles yanked him clear off the table by his wrist and into a hug that made his ribs creak audibly.

“Do that to me again and after I bring you back I will kill you _myself_.”

“Gotcha,” he croaked out.

“How are you feeling?” Deaton asked taking his wrist and feeling out his pulse.

“Amazing.  I kind of want to run laps or something.  Maybe take up sky diving.  Ooh!  I know:  _waterskiing_!  I always wanted to try but couldn’t because of my asthma.  On the way can we pick up like, half a dozen cheeseburgers I’m sooooo hungry right now?”

Scott was smiling like he’d just been told Harris’s chemistry class was cancelled indefinitely but Stiles and the Fae Elders were leaning away like they were afraid the boy might be contagious.

Deaton recovered first “Why don’t you go on out to the lobby with your friends, they’ll get you something to eat.”

“Sure thing, boss man,” he said hopping off the table with a salute and strutting out with a whistle, not seeming to notice he was still shirtless and spattered with various fluids. 

“Uh, I had a big meal tonight?”

The Elders looked at him like he’d suggested they all go roller-skating dressed as chickens, or something.

“I was hoping to ask you about that, actually,” The Sheriff said appearing in the doorway.

Stiles’s night was now complete.  “Hey, Dad.  I can explain.”

“That’s wonderful Stiles.”  He had never seen the man look so calmly furious in his _life_.  “But I was actually talking to _them_.”

“Is that so?” Gerard asked.  “And what would a human policeman have to say that could possibly interest me?” he scoffed.

The Sheriff’s answering smile was wolfish.  He popped the clasps on the sheathed knife at his belt.  “Quite a lot.  If you want to live that is.”  His Dad was an imposing individual because of his presence more than his size, he was barely larger than Gerard after all, but the Fae Noble was not impressed.

The old man moved so fast he was a blur even to _Stiles’_ eyes, a switchblade materializing in one hand.  The half-dragon tried to call out a warning to his Father but it was too late.

Too late for Gerard.

The blade had no more luck in injuring the Sheriff than the Drake had, snapping like a toothpick when it got within a couple inches of his skin.  He grabbed the shocked Gerard by the wrist, spinning him around and slamming the older man’s head into the table, arm twisted up at and agonizing angle behind his back.  Calmly, he drew knife with his free hand and slammed in into the metal two inches away from Gerard’s eye. 

Stiles’s father had replaced his Glock Field Knife with a more exotic blade.  It was roughly the same dimensions but instead of a grip of utilitarian rubber, this one had one of woven leather blackened with extreme age.  The blade, which had sunk into the steel like it was Styrofoam, was etched with symbols that glowed ember orange and was heating the metal to red hot right before their eyes.  Deaton’s exam table was having a rough night.

“I assume you know what this is, Ogma?” the Sheriff asked.  Stiles’s was wondering who this man was and what he had done with his Dad.

“An Imperial Blade!?  Where did you get that!?”  Gerard grunted.

“The same place I got that protection spell: it was a gift from my wife on our anniversary,” he said releasing him from the hold.

“That’s _impossible_.”

“What can I say?  My son got his disregard for the rules from his mother.”

Stiles’s had passed confused, breezed by desperate, and had arrived at exhausted.  “Someone.  Explain.  _Please_.”

“Allow me,” Deaton leaned over the table and pulled the knife free.  “This blade is one of a small number forged just before the beginning of the Great Fae War.”

“I’m guessing it’s more than just old?”  The mixture of greed and fear glinting in Gerard’s eyes kind of a clue.

“It’s the deadliest and most sought after weapon in the Fae world.  A single cut is enough to kill most of our kind.”

So his Dad was walking around with a mini vorpal sword clipped to his belt.  Super.  “Okay, and on to the fact that mom made you _Unbreakable_!?”

“It’s an abomination,” Gerard growled, eyes glowing metallic gold like his son’s had in the woods the night everything went insane.

“It is forbidden for the Fae to grant mortals life and power beyond what is natural for them,” Deaton explained.

“Wow, it’s the Fae GOP.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” the Sheriff sighed.  “I wanted to be here for this to make sure you got the real story and not… _propaganda_.”  He was willing to bet no human had ever given _The Ogma_ such a disdainful look.  “Your mother told me that The Ogma and The Elder would eventually reveal themselves to you, and took measures to make sure I’d be able to be here to help you decide which clan to join.”

“Don’t be preposterous, human, his family _began_ the Dark Fae.  He is _ours_.”

“Uh, _he_ is _his_ , thank you very much.”

Stiles, Gerard, and the Sheriff all began talking at once, until brought his hands together with a sound like a thunderclap.  “Perhaps we should start at the beginning?”

“Fine,” the Sheriff agreed, “but we should take this somewhere we can sit.  It’s a long story.”

“Right this way.”

They followed The Elder, Stiles assumed that meant the Elder _tree_ , out of the exam room and into what appeared to be his office, but bore more than a passing resemblance to Dumbledore’s study at Hogwarts thanks to the shelves and shelves of herbs, books, and miscellany.  Stiles hurriedly claimed the chair behind the desk so he could watch the three men present their cases on equal footing.  Also it was huge and looked invitingly comfy.

The Sheriff and Deaton both arched an eyebrow at him in a creepy display of synchronicity.  Then again, maybe the “Really, Stiles?” expression was universal.  Since there were only two chairs all three silently agreed to remain standing, to which he rolled his eyes.  “So, the beginning?”

“I’ll take this,” his Dad said in a familiar parent voice that brooked no argument.  “You remember that fairy tale your mother used to tell you as a bedtime story?”  His tone was flat and uninflected, setting off warning bells in Stiles head.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It was actually PG version of how the Great Fae War began.”

“Okay.  So, Once Upon A Time..?”

It worked, his Dad smiled (Gerard snorted and looked nauseas while Deaton looked sad for some reason).  “Once Upon A Time, around the rise of the Roman Empire, the Fae became divided on how to deal with human advancement.  Some thought it was better to encourage progress, to give up ruling and hunting humans in the old ways in favor of cultivating a more stable food supply.”  He was obviously trying to tell the story with a certain amount of detachment but the Sheriff couldn’t quite conceal his disgust.  “Eventually those that favored assimilation gathered around the banner of one of the Ancient Greek Noble Families.”

“My Grandfather’s family was the same for the separatists, weren’t they?”

He nodded “Some of the clans preferred the hunt.  They liked the more savage parts of the world where they could have free reign.  When Rome’s legions began conquering the tribes in Northern Europe those Fae rallied behind the Great Dragon, who ruled the British Isles.

“So they went to war?” Stiles shrugged.  “So what?  I mean the history lesson’s fascinating and all but…”

“The best part is still to come,” Gerard interjected, earning a glare from Deaton.  Seriously what was going on there?

“ _Then_ ,” the Sheriff continued pointedly, “The High King of the Light received a prophecy from his sister, The Pythia.”

“Wait, The Pythia?  _The Delphic Oracle_?”

“The same.  She foretold that should the heirs of the High Kings marry, the two empires would be united by blood.”

“But that didn’t happen,” he said confused.

“Actually it did,” Deaton corrected, “but prophecy is a dangerous thing to interpret too literally.”

“The two leaders sent their heirs to be raised by the family other.  That way when they wed they would truly be able rule in the best interests of all.”  The Sheriff stopped and glared at Deaton and Gerard “The Light and the Dark disagree about what happened next, even these two, despite the fact that they were _there_.”

“You’re telling me that these two are over _two thousand years old_!?”  For crying out loud Deaton barely looked _forty_!

“We are the two eldest of our clans that still bother to get involved in Fae affairs.” The Vet explained.  “The Elder and The Ogma are positions of honor, more than actual authority.”

The Sheriff chuckled darkly at the word “honor”.  “Anyway.  Plans went forward for the union and the founding of a new Fae Empire, including the forging of these blades,” he said placing a hand on the hilt of his knife.  “The royal families were Fae of such power they were basically immortal, some were even worshipped as deities.  But they were also mortal enemies that could wipe out whole civilizations with a _polite_ disagreement.  So they came up with a solution. They combined their power in the creation of these daggers as a symbol that even the future emperors would not be above the judgment of the united Fae race.”

“Since I’m the only one left I guess the verdict was “guilty”.”

“Something like that.  The night the new Emperor and Empress were married they murdered each other.  The husband stabbed the wife with one of these blades, but she was a dragon.  As the fire in it consumed her she devoured his life force, but it wasn’t enough to save her.”

“And their families went all Capulet and Montague on each other?”

“Actually that’s exactly right,” said Gerard.  “This is the true basis for the myth of Pyramus and Thisbe, which in turn inspired…”

“Romeo and Juliet, yeah I know.”

“The war that started that night lasted more than a thousand years, destroyed the Roman Empire, and plunged Europe into the dark ages.” Deaton added.  “It only ended when the new Light King cast a blood spell to bring peace, or at least truce, by writing the laws which all Fae must follow.”

“Which fulfilled the prophecy,” he said nodding in understanding.  “So I have some royal blood?  I still don’t see why that’s such a big deal.  You guys have new kings, right?”

Gerard actually laughed at that “The Monarchs haven’t even been _seen_ in centuries, if they’re still alive, afraid to exert their power lest the upset the balance between the clans.”

The Sheriff walked around the desk and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder “There are a lot among the Dark that think they were cheated by the peace, that the light agenda went forward while they were forced into the fringes of human society.  Many want to be able to feed with impunity, like you and your friends did tonight.”

His Father’s grip was meant to be supportive but to Stiles it was like his hand was dripping with acid.  How much would he have taken from those kids if they hadn’t been interrupted?  What if they made feasts like that regular thing?  There was no way repeated exposure to that could be anything but harmful for the human _kids_.  If he was allowed to run around unchecked he could end up creating a whole generation of burnouts and junkies, and love every second of it. 

He could be the poster the boy for a new generation of Dark Fae, and a big part of him was salivating at the idea,

“Now you understand.”  Gerard looked thrilled at Stiles understanding an obvious interest.  “You’ve already recruited some very promising kids for your court.  You could bring them with you when you join us.  If you wanted you could even keep up your human lives for a while longer, go to college, get a degree, and when you’re ready take over rule of one of the Counties.  Ever wanted to see New York?  Ask and the city can _belong_ to you.”

The old man was pushing just the right buttons to manipulate an awkward, small town,  teenage outsider.  What made it worse was that Stiles knew every word was true and he wanted it, wantd it on a such a visceral level it almost a need.  He almost said yes right then and there until he saw the confident smile on Deaton’s face, like he knew exactly what was going on in Stiles’s mind and was encourage by it for some reason.

“I have some time to think about it, right?”

“By our custom you become an adult when you gain your powers, but these days we often allow children to wait until after high school for the sake of blending in.”

“I somehow doubt I’ll get to wait that long.”

“Sooner would probably be better, son, for your own safety.”  His poor Dad.  Obviously he’d know things would come to this, but it put a whole new spin on watching your kid grow up too fast.

“My birthday, then.  I turn seventeen in April, we’ll have the ceremony or whatever the.”

The Ogma seemed satisfied with that.  Stiles began mentally bracing himself for the twisted fae version of swag he was going to get showered with in the meantime.  “I think we can all agree to that.  Alan?”  Deaton nodded, his pleased look having vanished behind a mask of neutrality.  “Excellent.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of preparations to make.”  He nodded again to Deaton, bowed slightly to Stiles, and thoroughly ignored the Sheriff before sweeping out.

“Come on kiddo, you _really_ need a shower.”  Stiles blushed tomato red.  Crap, he must reek of sex even to a human nose, assuming there weren’t visible splatters of _Jackson_ on him.  He was getting “the talk: Fae version” later.  But under his mortification the wheels were turning furiously in his mind.  He kept from asking too many questions in front of Gerard after his Dad’s warning about the fairy tale,  The Ogma clearly didn’t know about his biological father was light.  If the bedtime story his mother had told him every night of childhood was the true version of how the Great Fae War began, he was way more screwed than he’d already thought.  Moreover he was sure Deaton knew more than he was letting on, although it was clearly no use trying to get blood out of that particular stone.  One thing the man had said kept repeating over and over in his mind like a prayer: _half-dragon_.  It was no accident that the healing potion exploded in white light.  Deaton wanted him to _see_ that he truly did have a choice, that there was more than just Dark inside him.

Stiles had to learn more about his biological father’s family, and he had to do it without anyone knowing what he was up to.  Best of all he had less than three months to do it.  Just peachy.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

His head had barely hit the pillow when his phone rang, playing Elvis’s “Hound Dog” “What is it, Derek?”

“I need you to get to the McCall house.  Now.  Scott is out of control.”

Shit!  The Full Moon was still up.  Scott mut have flipped out again after he healed.  “I’m on my way.”

 

Keeping to the shadows as much as possible he was still able to get there running on foot in just a couple minutes.  He consumed a metric fuckton of delicious angsty teen joie de vivre at the party.  If it was fertility for lack of a better word that he needed as a catalyst to start feeding, did that mean unplanned teen pregnancies were about to become a thing of the past in the Beacon Hills party scene?  If so it was one hell of public service announcement.  Stay in school.  Just say no.  Don’t go to wild unsupervised parties or a Dragon will eat you and destroy your ability to procreate.  God he was hoping his Light half might allow to feed in a way that made him feel less skeevy.  Of course he had to figure out what that half _was_ first.

When he got to Scott’s he leapt up to the open second floor window without pausing or even slowing down.  He felt weightless.  Damn but he couldn’t wait until he figured out _wings_ , flying was going to be _awesome_.

He was met at the sill by an irate looking Derek “Help me, I’m begging you.”

Terror thrummed in his heart “Is Scott okay!?  What happened!?  Did he relapse!?   Did the Argents come back!?  What!?”

The werewolf made a disgusted sound and grabbed him by the shoulders, roughly repositioning him so he could look at the hot mess that had become of Scott McCall.  He was in dressed only in boxers as he jumped up and down his bed like it was a trampoline.  He was holding a chicken leg in either hand and alternated between tearing off bites of meat and singing snatches of “I’m Sexy and I Know it.”

“Please tell me you got some of this on video.”  It was like Christmas had come gain already.

“You should have here for “Sexy Back”.  I’m scarred for life but the footage is definitely going to go viral if Scott every pisses me off too much.”  The mischievous smile looked good on the man.  Stupid hormones!  Stiles had suffered the most epic cockblock _ever_ earlier that night and could not deal with seeing Derek’s adorable overbite peeking out of that goddamn _smile_.  Besides, he may be a man by Fae law but his Dad was a sheriff and a big believer in California law.  He promised himself that if chose the Dark he was going to hook up with Derek at least once before he parted ways with the Light fae for good.

“So what do you want me to do about it?”  He was fine with letting Scott enjoy himself until his mom got back from the night shift at the hospital.  As soon as the thought crossed his mind the boy jumped a little to energetically, head smashing into the ceiling causing a rain of plaster and an explosion of spider-webbing cracks.  He landed hard on his ass, at which point the bedframe finally gave way with a groan of tortured wood and metal.

“You put this in him, pull out of him!”

“First of all it was Deaton that cooked up the wereroofie.  Second, please never use that phrase again.  Scott’s like my brother.  I need brain bleach to get rid of that image.”  It was only half a lie.  He _was_ being assaulted by imagery it just didn’t involve _Scott_.

Derek rolled his eyes “I can smell your blood in him and it’s not going away.  You need to feed on him and pull the energy out of it so his system can break it down.”

“Feed?  How?  Sorry, but we just covered this, I wouldn’t have sex with a _sober_ Scott.”

“Since when do you feed through sex?”  Son of a bitch.  The wolf’s glare was merely curious but his voice actually sounded a little _hurt_.  Stiles’s doomed crush might not be as one sided he imagined.  This was in no way going to complicate all of their lives.  He’d watched _The Secret_ and was going to positively affirm the hell out of that sentence.

Still he couldn’t help the blush that appeared over his cheekbones.  “Not important.  What am I supposed to do?”

“Just make a cut and suck it out.  It should come right to you.”  The bastard was enjoying the look of nausea on Stiles’s face way too much.  Petty, possessive, perfectly proportioned jerk.

He reluctantly approached Scott who was sitting splay-legged on the ruined bed and giggling up at his handiwork on the ceiling “Stiles!” he crowed joyfully, just now noticing he was there.  “I’ve been waiting _forever_.  Derek is _no fun at all_!” he whined.  “Hurry up and kiss frog!wolf so he can turn into prince!wolf and we can all go dancing!”

Wow.  If all else failed Stiles could make a hell of a living dealing his blood as a club drug.  “Okay we can go dancing just give me a hug first.”

It ended up being more of a tackle really “I love you man,” the blitzed teen snuffled, overcome with emotion.

“I love you too buddy.”  Stiles let his fangs extend and struck as gently as possibly, suckin lightly at the wound.  Derek had been right.  He could feel his own altered blood collect at the bite as he pulled at it.  It tasted odd, like his but slightly less somehow.

“Whoa headrush” Scott groaned.  “I think had a little too much tonight.”

“It’s okay, just sleep it off,” he said laying him on the more stable looking area of the bed.

“M’kay.”  McCall out.

“Well this has been a hell of night,” he told the room.

Derek made a decidedly canine chuffing noise behind him “That’s one way to put it.  I tried to tack the Alpha but I lost him where he ran into the Argents.”  One day Stiles was going to pry the truth about why he hated them from the taciturn wolf.

“They are seriously scary.   Gerard pitched the Dark Fae to me tonight?”

“And?”  The tone was _so_ disinterested he felt certain that Derek was wound tighter than Allison’s bow with apprehension.

“I wanted to say yes.”  He turned and walked back over to the stony faced werewolf, stopping well within arm’s reach.  “It’s a good fit for me.  I could finally get out of Beacon Hills, live in a big city, have a close circle of friends, money, girls, boys, the works.”  Well that was subtle as invitations went, at least for him.

“Sounds nice.”  He could see the man becoming more closed off by the second.  Maybe for the first time in his life he was being too subtle.  Obviously he was going to have to resort to naked candor. 

He swallowed nervously “But I didn’t.  I realized something else tonight: only half of me is Dark.  But if I gave into it I’m afraid it would make me evil.  Like full on red lightsaber, twirling my moustache, trying to take over Metropolis _evil_.”  His head fell forward in defeat.  Maybe it wasn’t that the werewolf couldn’t take the hint.  Maybe he didn’t want it.  Not only was the man older and Light Fae, but he didn’t have to _eat people_ to survive.  Maybe he just wanted no part of Stiles’s freak show.

Derek’s large fever-warm hand brushed a tear off his cheek and lifted his chin up.  Stiles gasped softly at the fervor burning in the man’s eyes.  Or was it anger?  Or disgust maybe?  This close the older guy looked barely more than a boy as he spoke with whatever emotion it was heating his voice “I’ve spent most of my waking hours this last week either trying to force basic training through that adamantium skull of yours or following you and Scott around so I can pull your asses out of the disaster that is _magnetically_ drawn to you.”  An X-Men reference?  Kill him now.  _Nobody_ was this perfect.  “I’ll bet I’ve watched you more closely than anyone has ever bothered to before and do you know I discovered?”

“What?” he asked dejectedly.  Here it came.  They were going to play this out to its full, crushing conclusion.

“You are the most annoying, irritating, spastic, loud, obnoxious, arrogant, insufferable, hyperactive, vicious, lacrosse-loving, insane, know-it-all, pain in the ass that I’ve ever met!”  Derek was so incensed he was actually _growling_ by the end of his litany of Stiles’ faults.   He crumpled in on himself and tried to look away from those intense eyes that had begun to continuously glow electric blue, but the werewolf snarled fangs out and held his head still with both hands.  “But the one thing you will never, ever be is _evil_.”

Derek kissed him.  _Derek Hale_ kissed _him_.

It was over in a hot wet second.  Dazed, Stiles’s barely managed to clock the bottom of the guys’ shoes vanishing through the window.  It may have been his imagination but he was reading some mixed signals from the older boy.

Nope, this wasn’t going to be complicated _at all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles's search for his father's identity and the family fairy tale will be one half of the mystery as he and Derek team up to find the Alpha. And do other stuff.


	6. Fae Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's mixed signals bother Stiles, but a surprise visit from the Fae Elders forces them back together and Kate breezes in to illuminate past events in a horrifying fashion. Waltzing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic actually fell just 2k short of the 50k benchmark. The good news is that it got a little more attention towards the end.
> 
> BTW writing in a compelling mystery that's obvious but not too obvious is ridiculously hard.

Stiles didn’t see Derek again for two weeks, and as much as he regretted that he couldn’t help but enjoy the superficial return to normalcy.  Well, normal for most teenagers maybe.  He had never really been part of a group.  He was on the lacrosse team but wasn’t a jock, smart but had nothing to do with the computer geeks or the chess club, and as much as loved digging up juicy stories he’d never be caught dead at the school newspaper.  For almost a decade it had just been him and Scott hanging around on the fringes, and now overnight he was surrounded by people at all times.

If Scott felt the social whiplash as keenly as he did the werewolf wasn’t letting on.  Of course, now that Allison was in the picture Stiles wasn’t sure the love struck teen would notice the zombie apocalypse.  In other circumstances being so thoroughly sidelined would have made him jealous, possessive dragon blood notwithstanding, but he was too busy holding court to get obsessive.  To the casual observer they just looked a bunch of kids hanging out, going to the movies, eating lunch in the cafeteria, when in truth they were laying the groundwork for political alliances that might last centuries.  Sometimes the cognitive discord of it all made him want to scream.

 

Stiles had found it suspicious when the neither the Dark nor the Light had continued pursuing his loyalty after the meeting in Deaton’s office.  Of all the things he imagined they might be planning, a Ball was absolutely nowhere on the list.

“A what now?” he prayed he’d misheard somehow.

“The Festival of Imbolg?” Argent repeated.

“Like that monster-thing from the first _Lord of the Rings_ movie?”  Scott asked confused.

Some of the younger fae present snickered, but the Dark Seraph looked less than amused “Note exactly.”

“It’s Groundhog Day in America, Scott,” he explained.

Less than amused became downright testy “It’s not-

“Yeah, yeah Celtic Feast, yadda yada firewood, we get it.  What I want to know is why there has to be a _Ball_ and more importantly why _we_ have to go.”

Lydia, political maven that she was, saw through the ruse in about three seconds “The Ogma.  He moved the conclave of the Dark County Heads here, didn’t he?”  Argent nodded, looking impressed.  “Naturally the Light responded in kind.”

Stiles had jokingly assigned each of “courtiers” titles in his head (although he was careful not to share them).  Lord General Jackson whispered in his ear “Imbolg is like the Fae version of the State of the Union Address.”  The paradoxical nature of their relationship was an ongoing source of bewilderment.  Within their little group he was as big a tool as ever, but when confronted by an outside threat he closed ranks so fast you’d think he was Stiles sworn bodyguard.

“That’s kind of cool, actually,” Sir Scott said looking at Sheriff Allison.  Since her Father was in the room the two lovebirds were not touching, although they had arranged themselves on the loveseat so that there was maybe a few millimeters of space between them.  The guy was obviously imagining his girlfriend making a slow motion entrance into some grand ballroom a la Cinderella, or in this case more like _Beauty and the Beast_.

“But back to why we have to go?” Master of Assassins Danny asked?  The generally mellow Kapua was actually one of the most terrifying people he’d ever met, even if his whole family had been Light for eons.  It was just too hard to reconcile his mental image of the pleasant and good-natured goalie with his true nature as a flesh-eating trickster fae.  Ick.

“Because they’re really here to see Stiles,” High Chancellor Lydia said, “We need to be there to have his back.

“You will all also need an escort from either the Light or the Dark as none of you have chosen a clan yet.”

Scott swallowed manfully and shifted in his seat to face Allison fully “Technically I’m already Light because I accepted a place in Derek’s pack.  So, Aliison Argent, will you do me the honor of letting me escort you the Ball this weekend?”  It was so sweet Stiles felt almost no desire to strangle him for his brazen proposal right in front of the now _very_ irate Cuhullin.

With barely a flick of an eye towards her red-faced father Allison said “Yes, I would love to.”

“Well I suppose the proprieties have been met and there’s little I can do about it,” the man growled through clenched teeth.  If he wasn’t currently a guest on Light Fae soil Stiles suspected the man would have liberated Scott’s head from his shoulders about half a second after his invitation.  “I assume the rest are being escorted by parents or older siblings?”  A murmur of confirmation arose from Danny, Lydia, Zachariah, Mara, and Sara.

“I don’t have an escort,” Jackson mumbled in a bitter voice.  Growing up as he had probably explained why the fairy prince had become so fanatical about the little family they’d been building.  Then again, as overwhelming as everything was at times, Stiles would react with an equal amount of fervor if someone threatened one of them.

Scott’s phone barked in his pocket, shattering the contemplative moment.  It _literally_ barked.  He must have set up a personalized text alert.  “It’s my Boss, sorry.”  The new fae was still way too uncomfortable about the whole mess to call his old mentor by his title as he checked the message.  “Doctor Deaton says he will escort Jackson.”

That guy never got any less scary “How does he bloody do that?” Stiles asked in his best worst British accent.  From the flat look he got from Argent the man had never seen _Muppet Treasure Island_.  Philistine.

“That just leaves you, Stiles.  My sister has asked me extend her admiration as well as her invitation to escort you.”  The man did not look pleased carrying that particular message.  Stiles wouldn’t have been either; it was a little creepy.

Derek’s snarl ripped through Stiles’s stunned silence “No.”  He’d actually forgotten that Argent hadn’t been alone when he’d unceremoniously crashed the study session in the Stilinksi living room.  For all that he was built like a brick house the older werewolf could really fade into the background when he chose to.  “I will escort Stiles.  He lives on Light territory and I am the ranking offical here therefore I claim the privilege.”  The guy sounded more like he was claiming a free root canal sans Novocain than a _privilege_.

“Ranking official?” Argent sneered.  “A werewolf?  And not even a real Alpha.” 

“I’m working on that.”

Stiles knew that particular endeavor was going nowhere fast.  His Dad had been helping Derek as much as he could after he discovered that the arsonist turned bus driver had tenuous links to the Hale House Fire.  Despite everything there had been no sign whatsoever of the mysterious Alpha or any more clues to his identity.  Stiles wished he was naïve enough to think it a coincidence that the “animal attacks” had stopped just when this whole party plot started coming together.  Just as he was envisioning various scenarios involving gore-soaked formalwear a _truly_ horrifying thought occurred to him.  A Ball meant ballroom dancing and there was no way Lydia would let any of them escape what was sure to be her grueling tutelage.

Why couldn’t he just have been born an elf or something instead of a dragon?

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

It had taken a lot of effort but in the end he had convinced Lydia to teach them social graces out in the preserve where they did their physical training instead of somewhere in town.  The dancing wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, but it seemed receiving his great draconic mojo did not cure him of his two left feet.  After the third time he’d stomped on her toes she’d banished him off to the side to watch for a while, and grabbing Scott instead.  His best friend seemed a little frightened as she manhandled him round and round the clearing in a lurching waltz that looked more like a judo match while a watchful Derek lurked on the periphery trying not to smile.

“Hey,” Allison said sitting down next to him, taking a break from dancing with Jackson, who appeared to be more interested in glowering at Scott and Lydia anyway.

“Hey,” replied shifting his gaze away from where Zachariah and Mara, and Danny and Sara were revolving gracefully around a huge old tree stump.  Showoffs.  Allison’s aura was a particularly pure silver-blue today, which made him curious “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”  Ha, archer humor.

“Your aura does this weird thing where it shifts between two different colors.  Sometime it looks like your Dad’s but other times, like now for instance, it’s…brighter, I guess.”

“That wasn’t exactly a question,” she answered wryly before wilting slightly and sighing dejectedly.  “It’s because I’m a Seraph and I haven’t gone one way or the other yet.”

“You don’t know which side you want to join yet?”

“Do you?”

“Touché.”

“It’s different for my kind, for angels in general.”

“How so?”  Stiles was fascinated by this twist, eager to learn anything he could about how much his species should really inform his decision.

“We don’t choose per se.  It’s more about who we are at our core, whether we become Guardian Angels or Avenging ones.”

“Let me guess, your Father and Grandfather are Avenging Angels.”

“What gave it away?”

“The swords and summary executions were a clue.”  Not to mention the perpetual case of the willies he had when they were around.  It was like he was reading Playboy in a church or something.

Allison bit her lip, hesitating over her next question.  Stiles knew what she was going to ask.  “Do I?  I mean which..?”

“You were pretty much half and half at first.  It changed after Scott was taken by the Alpha.”

“I thought it might have.”  She sounded conflicted, but not about the actions she’d taken that night.

“Let me guess, you were thinking about saving him instead of killing the one that hurt him?”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

That reminded him of something that had been bothering him ever since the Big Reveal “Speaking of words, why do your Dad and Granddad rag on werewolves so much?”

Allison winced “It’s that fae specism thing.  Werewolves and Vampires are able to make more of themselves by turning humans.”

“And since most Fae, especially Dark Fae, think of humans as lower life forms…”  that was something that still pissed him off.  His Dad was human and worth ten of any Fae he’d met so far.

“Exactly.  How many people a coven or pack can turn is fixed, but sooner or later they end up breaking the rules.  The Dark Seraphim are the ones that hunt down and execute the criminal packs in the name of protecting our secret.”

“So, Scott?”

“The lowest of the low.”

“But you obviously don’t feel that way.”

“No.  No I don’t,” she said softly, a small smile playing on her lips. 

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do about this.  On the one hand he wanted his best friend to be happy, but on the other, their deepening love was rapidly pushing Allison towards the Light and he had no doubt he’d make an eternal enemy of the Argent clan if he helped steal their favorite daughter from them.

“What do you think would happen if I chose the light?”

Her contented expression soured “I’m not sure.  There have been rumors lately of a new movement among some of the…less regarded Dark Fae.”

“Like werewolves.”

“Yes.  It’s just whispers but my Father believes them,” her own voice so quiet now it was barely audible.  Derek’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing.  She hadn’t been quiet enough to escape the werewolf’s hearing.  Something about the intensity of the man’s stare filled Stiles with a sense of…foreboding wasn’t the right word.  It was more like familiarity.  Something about what Allison had said tickled at a dark suspicion his mind didn’t want to fully explore, yet.

“Tell me more about the “movement”, maybe…” he trailed off sensing a powerful presence approaching.  Its footfalls sent a ripple of conflict through the feel of the land, as if the very ground here was offended by the thing walking on it.

Derek was at his side in a flash haring Stiles’s heartbeat double within seconds “What is it?”

“Listen, what do you hear?”

The wolf closed his eyes and cocked his head “Footsteps, coming this way.   Boots.”

“Whoever it is has a lot of power, _dark_ power.”

“This is Light territory, _my_ territory,” he snarled, eyes alight with blue fire.  “You need to go, all of you.”

Panic tore through Stiles’s chest like a bullet “No way, I’m not leaving you.”

Derek growled and ran a hand through his hair in frustration “Fine.  Hide then.  But promise you won’t come out unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

There were eight other kids there with them but it was obvious that his worry was all for Stiles.  Time to be bold then.  He grabbed the lapels of the leather jacket he loved/hated and pulled Derek into brief but scorching kiss.  “Watch yourself you stubborn ass.”

There was a flurry of commotion as they all scrambled to gather their belongings and get out of sight.  This couldn’t be an assault, not in daylight and alone, but whatever was about to happen sure as hell wasn’t on the up and up.  Between those of them with super strength and Zachariah’s height they got everyone safely up into the branches of trees just close by enough to watch to the clearing, but far enough away to hopefully avoid detection.

Derek waited in the center of the clearing, shoulder’s back and thumbs hooked in his pockets.  It was a cockily arrogant stance and hopefully enough of a bluff to put off thoughts of attack in the intruder’s mind.  It was a good show, but it crumbled to dust the second the werewolf caught sight of the woman wending her way towards him through the trees.

The last time Stiles had seen Kate Argent she’d had her spike-heeled boot pressing down on Scott’s windpipe.  As far as first impressions go it wasn’t terribly endearing.  Out here where she thought no one but Derek could see it was clear that she’d been holding back before.  Everything about her from her walk, to her clothes, to her soot-and-rust aura, all screamed _killer_.

“Hey, Derek, long time no see.”  Her tone was light, superficial even, but Stiles heard a faint undercurrent of vicious glee.  She was expecting violence and was eager for it.

“Kate.”  He sounded so _afraid_ of her.  It didn’t make _sense_.  “You can’t be here.”

“Oh I think I can.”  Her smile was vulpine as walked in a slow circle around him, leering at him in a way that made Stiles’s talons snick out and score the bark of the tree he hid in.  “You see, the Alpha, whoever he is, killed that poor bus driver and carved a spiral into his stomach.”

“”Bus driver” what, you can’t remember your old friend’s name?”

“Friend?  Oh honey no.  He was a human, a tool,” her voice dropped to sultry purr as she leaned in close, “a _weapon_.”

“You need to leave.”  Derek’s clawed hands were shaking now, but Stiles had been wrong before.  The man wasn’t scared, he was _pissed_.  Barely managing not to throw himself at her actually.

“Uh, let me think about it…no.  You see, only someone in your family would care about revenge for the fire.  That makes the Alpha a Hale, and since you’re the only one of you halfbreeds actually dumb enough to join the Light, he’s Dark.  That makes this territory Dark.”

“He’s a rogue.  This land is mine unless the Elders of both sides agree otherwise.”

Her smile became victorious “Then there’s a dangerous Dark Fae on the loose in Light territory in which case it’s my duty to hunt the mongrel down.”  She reached out to slowly drag her fingernails across Derek’s shoulder, causing Stiles’s vision to turn red with rage.  “Isn’t playing at being Alpha exhausting, Derek?  Maybe I can find you a place in my kennel when my business here is done.  I had so much fun making you _bark_ for me.”

Stiles could practically _feel_ the white hot lance of anger, pain, and humiliation that shot through Derek, shattering his self-control.  The Beta leapt at Kate who produced what looked like a cattle prod on steroids and deftly dropped him with a well-placed shock.

“Never were very good with electricity were you?” she mocked.  “I’m not going to kill you, not today.  I want to hear you beg for it first; I love it when you beg.”  She started backing away, idly twirling the prod.  “I’ll save you a dance.”  She left far more swiftly and quietly than she’d come.

When Stiles was sure she was gone he jumped out of the tree, skipping that whole climbing down part, but landing with barely a sound anyway.  He approached Derek slowly but the man was too busy impersonating a Greek statue, an atypically and unfortunately fully clothed one.  “Hey, Der, are you-

“Say nothing,” he bit out.  “I’ll pick you up on Friday at seven.”  And with that he took off into the woods at full speed.  If half of what Stiles was starting to suspect was true he would have sprouted wings and fucking _flown_ out of there like the wind.  Either that or curled up and died.  Derek hesitance with him had just been eloquently and sickeningly explained.  Clearly Derek wasn’t getting much help from the Fae world, so Stiles would have to take care of it from the human side of things.  Actually, that was even better.  Life in prison was a very, very, very long sentence for a Seraph.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Stop fussing with it,” his Dad said batting his hands away from the knot of his tie.  At least Lydia had okayed a normal tie instead of bow, he refused to look like a penguin.   The lines of the tux itself were simple classic elegance, although he suspected the fabric it was made from cost more than his jeep.  His shirt, tie and vest were various shades of scarlet, the latter being embroidered with copper-colored thread in a leafy design “to bring out his eyes”.  As he looked in the mirror he had to admit it.  Lydia knew what she was doing when it came to fashion, especially if she’d managed to turn him into a perfect formal gentleman.  “Smile!”  There was the clicking of a digital camera shutter as his Father snapped away taking strictly forbidden photos.

“Gah!  No evidence dad!”

“Deal with it I’m making a memory here.”

“Fine,” he sighed, “But no assaulting Derek with your cameraphone when he gets here.  This isn’t the Prom and the poor guy’s uncomfortable enough with all this as it is.”

“I’ll bet.”  The man looked unconvinced of that.  “Just be careful with him, he’s been through a lot.”

“Hey!  I thought you were supposed to be worried about _me_ getting hurt?”

His Dad leveled a look at him that questioned his intelligence “That’s what I’m doing.”

He was missing something here.  The doorbell rang before he could ask, but when he realized he’d flown downstairs at twice human speed he figured it out.  After taking a deep breath to compose himself he opened the door to the last person on earth he’d ever want to see hurt.

“Hi,” an uncomfortable-looking Derek said from the stoop, a sleek black limousine idling in the driveway.  Stiles heart stopped for a second taking in the sight before him.  Instead of tux he’d gone with a tailored three piece suit of pearl gray and a shiny shirt and tie of deep cerulean.

“You…I…hey…?”

“What my son means to say,” the Sheriff said coming down the stairs, “Is thank you for escorting me this evening and you look very handsome.”

How Derek looked at the compliment was like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him.  “Thank you Sir.”

“Your welcome.”

“Well, gotta go see and be seen, bye Dad!”  Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm in what was supposed to look like a friendly gesture and started hauling him out to the car before his Father could embarrass him worse.  Once they were seated in the opulently appointed interior he asked “So, what are the odds of this thing going off without a hitch?”

“Zero.”

“Is uh _she_ going to cause trouble for you?”

The werewolf’s face darkened, his glowing eyes beautifully offset but the darker blue of his shirt “Probably, but not the way you have in mind.  The Argents will need to lay some groundwork first if they want to remove me without anyone protesting after.”

“Ooh, champagne!”  He pulled the chilled and uncorked bottle out of built in bucket of ice “You want?” 

Derek stared at him hard for a moment like he was trying to decide between different versions of “you’re only sixteen” but in the end just mumbled “Sure.”

“Sweet!”  Stiles poured two glasses and sat back sipping at his.  “I just want you to know that if it comes down to it I’ll gladly join the Dark, in exchange for the Argents’ heads.  I’m pretty sure their elders would jump at the offer.”

Emotions warred for dominance on the older boy’s face, and knowing what Stiles knew now (or at least suspected) it was hard to see him as a man instead of the kid who lost everything way too young.  Resignation won out “I guess that would neatly solve all your current…complications.”

“Are you kidding me?  I’ve never been very stealth; sneaking around for the next thousand years would be a bitch.”

Derek didn’t respond to that but that fervent light was back in his eyes.  He definitely knew Stiles meant “sneak around to see him”.  They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

 

For all that the Fae were borderline psychotic about secrecy they’d gone and appropriated the freaking County Courthouse as the venue for the Ball.  Granted, it was the only building in town that had the necessary look but _still_.  When they pulled up a uniformed valet opened the limo door for them.  At least there was no red carpet but the steady influx of formalwear would have looked at home at a Hollywood premier.

“You ready for this?” he asked nervously.

Derek just grunted beside him.

“Come on, you’re from a noble family, you must have gone to things like this before.”  He fishing and not at all subtle about it.

“Not really.  I was too young…before, and after I left Beacon Hills I stayed out things as much as possible.”

Open mouth, insert foot.  “Right, sorry.”

His escort held out his arm “Might as well make an entrance.”

They were layers of emphasis behind the statement.  Entering arm in arm with Derek could be interpreted in all manner of ways but if nothing else it would give him a chance to gauge reactions.  Anything that could give him a leg up on these people was worthwhile.  Well, that’s how Lydia might have rationalized his decision anyway.  All he said as he slid their arms together was “Hells yeah.”

Stiles had been in the courthouse often enough as the Sheriff’s son, and it had been one of his mother’s restoration projects along with the Arboretum and the town square.  Even so it had been transformed into something barely recognizable.  The huge marble entryway was filled with Fae mingling, eating from one of the lavish refreshment tables along the walls, or dancing between the arms of the grand staircase to the music of the string quartet playing on the landing above.   Huge lengths of white cloth hung between the columns, rippling with a telltale shimmer of satin that caught the flickering light of thousands of candles, giving them an ethereal glow.  Paper lanterns by the score had been hung from the ceiling, giving off a ruddy light that made the numerous ice sculptures seem to dance like beings formed of solidified flame.  It was stunning, and Stiles suddenly felt very small.

A feeling that intensified as all movement and conversation came to a screeching halt as he entered.  As the moment dragged on he found the faces of his friends, their expressions ranging from worried (Scott) to amused (Danny) to downright smug (Lydia).  When the spell refused to break he snatched a glass of scotch off the tray of nearby waiter and tossed it.

“Slainte!” he called into the silence.  The party lurched into motion again with a round of polite laughter and a smattering of applause.

“Really, Stiles?” Derek asked with fond exasperation.

“I had to do something.”

It seemed his performance was only half done.  His arrival must have been a prearranged signal because the floor cleared except for a small group of couples, the teenage fae and their escorts.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Cypress intoned from the landing next to band, “Welcome to the eleven hundred and thirty-sixth Feast of Imbolg, the time of year when we celebrate the coming spring and the time of new beginnings.  To officially kick off the evening’s festivities will the next generation of our kind please join their escorts in a dance.”

Stiles focused on not tripping over his own feet as he felt the weight of the stares of the assembled nobility fall on him like a pile of anvils.  All of his fellow teens were there, including the out of towners, but he had just enough observance left to him to note Callum’s absence.  He didn’t have time to dwell.  The band struck up a lively waltz with a somber melody that perfectly expressed the theme of the old Celtic holiday, and they were off with Derek leading.

It was different than his practices with Lydia and company, not because he was following (his Grand Vizier had made sure he could do both) but because of how easy and natural it suddenly felt.  Maybe it was all the bonding he’d been doing with his new group of friends, or some elusive magic inherent to the fae, but the pairs twirling gracefully over the marble surface moved like they choreographed and practiced it.

Or maybe it was Derek.  Stiles’ eyes never wavered from those of his escort as they danced, trusting the wolf, _his_ wolf, to carry him safely through it.  The young dragon still didn’t really understand how he had become the leader of his little clique, but maybe there was more to it than just the political capital inherent to his heritage.  As he and Derek waltzed the essence of whatever had been growing between the lot of them became something almost tangible, a deep resonance that every fae present could feel.

Too soon it was over, thunderous applause breaking out as they bowed to their partners.  “One more?” Stiles asked as a slower piece started.

“Of course,” his escort dutifully replied, pulling him in close for a slow dance.  The rest of the party goers drifted out onto the floor, including his Father in his dress uniform leading the flabbergasted Cypress.  Stiles grinned like a chesire cat at the Sheriff’s audacity in even coming here after him, much less having the daring to ask a Fae Lady onto the dance floor.  Meanwhile his friends had retreated off to one of the buffet tables.  He saw Lydia give a huge wink as Jackson rolled his eyes and Allison tried to push what looked like caviar on a reluctant Scott.  It was all so much more comfortable and _normal_ than he ever imagined it would be.  Even though he could feel the longing to corner him coming off some of the Fae dancing nearby it didn’t bother him.  Right now the floor may as well have been empty but for him and Derek.

“Thank you for doing this,” he whispered, his cheek pressed against the older boy’s.

“What, dancing with you?  You’re not _that_ bad.”

“Funny, but no, I mean the way you look out for me.  You don’t have to, you know.”

They swayed on through a pregnant pause before Derek replied in a husky voice “Yes, I do. When I first met you, you were this annoying little ball of energy but even then I knew how extraordinary you’d be one day.”

Stiles only had the vaguest memories of the Hales “You knew her then, my mother?”  It was one of the topics they had avoided during their brief conversations thus far.  He had no idea why it was then and more surprisingly _there_ that they were finally having this talk, but he wasn’t about to stop when the answers were finally coming.

“A little.  She made me promise to look after you.  I think she knew how much I would want to when the time came.”

“Want to?”  The little ember of hope he’d been carrying around suddenly fanned into flame inside his chest.

“Yes, want.”

As the song ended Derek leaned in to kiss him.  Their third time was nothing like the previous two.  It was soft, sweet, with a bare parting of lips that made him feel like he was melting, and although it was as brief as the ones before it seemed to stretch on forever.  “My mom was one smart lady,” he said breathily when it was over.

The smile he got in rely was like staring at the sun.  Stiles just stood there for a moment searing it into his memory while a sea of mutters erupted from the Fae at their PDA, angry ones in the case of the Dark.

Hey could all go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned.  This moment with Derek was perfect, and it was _theirs_.  Whatever he decided in the end he was now sure about one thing: no one was separating the two of them without one hell of a fight.


	7. Fae it Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles realizes just how far in over his head he is when Callum corners him for a private chat. An uninvited guest arrives in spectacular fashion to put the all of their lives, and possible the balance of power in the Fae world, in mortal jeopardy. Stiles learns the last few tidbits to unlock the secret of his heritage.
> 
> Later the court tries to plan a way out the growing catastrophe.
> 
> Derek and Stiles finally confess their feelings both good and bad.

Lydia tapped him on the shoulder as the band started playing a more lively tune and the rest of the partygoers walked out onto the dance floor “Can I cut in?”

Stiles laughed at Derek’s nervous expression “Sure, take him for a spin.  I want to get a crack at the buffet before Scott devours everything.”  His escort gave him a look that promised bloody revenge as he surrendered his arm to the Libera.  “Go, dance, have fun.” He gave Lydia a significant glance behind Derek’s back, flicking his eyes to where Kate stood with her Father and Brother.  She nodded in understanding.  They had to make sure the psycho Seraph squad didn’t get a chance to take a shot at Derek or provoke him into doing something unforgivable in front of witnesses.

He followed his growling stomach toward a tray of canapés but was intercepted by a smiling Callum “Hey there, mate.  I was hoping we could have a little chat away from prying eyes.”  The vampire’s British hipster look was gone, replaced with a black suit, shirt, and tie that looked more expensive than Stiles’s jeep was when it was new.

“Sure why not.”  He really wanted to get away from the stares and whispers anyway.  The assembled Fae officials were surreptitiously edging closer to him whenever he took his eyes off them and it was only a matter of time before one of them felt bold enough to try and take him aside.  After that the other jackals were going to mob him en masse.

Callum led him through a side door into the hall “Just down here.”  He pushed open the door to the Judge’s chambers and waved Stiles on through.  Up until recently the idea of sneaking in somewhere like this with Scott in tow would have had him bouncing with excited mischief.  It was just another reminded how much his world had spun of its axis in the last few weeks.

When the door was securely closed and locked behind them Callum pulled a small cloth pouch out of pocket that gave off a pungent scent of herbs.  The vampire extended his fangs and pricked the pad of his thumb, drawing a drop of dark red blood and smearing it on the fabric.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked more curious than nervous.

“Just making sure we’re not overheard.”  Callum mumbled something and took out a Zippo, flicking it on and touching the flame to the pouch which went up in a flare of blue flame.  In a flash all that remained were wisps of pale lavender smoke that started lazily snaking their way through the air instead of dissipating.  “Privacy spell.”

Magic.  Of course.  “That’s actually really cool,” Stiles admitted.

“You pick up a few things over the course of seven centuries.”  That set off some warning bells.

“I guess that’s why you weren’t part of our little coming out dance.  Say, isn’t it a little creepy hanging out with the teenagers when you graduated during the Black Plague?”

Callum laughed “To be fair I am seventeen, just have been for a while.”

“You did not just _Twilight_ me,” Stiles groaned.

“I love those books.  Millions of fresh young girls ready to hurl themselves at me and my tortured nature.  It’s a great time to be a vampire, which is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Sorry, not really in to bloodplay.”  Stiles discreetly checked the exits but aside from the window the only way out into the main hall was through the door behind Callum.

“That’s quite a statement coming from a _dragon_.  The reason I led you to believe I was just another Fae kid was that I wanted to get to know you before I made my proposal, feel you out a bit.”

“Uh huh.  And what is it you…feel for me?  Because I’m pretty sure I’m of the market as of tonight.”  Or at least he hoped so.  He had a feeling that getting definitive statements about their almost relationship out of Derek would be about as easy as forcing his asshole chemistry teacher display signs of humanity or compassion.  Unless he _wasn’t_ human, which would explain a lot.

“Coy, that’s cute,” Callum deadpanned, “But Hale is exactly who I wanted to talk about.”

“I’m listening.”  They had maybe a couple of minutes before the werewolf in question went ballistic from his absence and tracked them here by scent.

“By now you must have noticed how the Fae regard werewolves and vampires.”

“The rampant Fae-cism?  And that makes you what?  The bloodsucking Rosa Parks?”

“Just one of a group of forward thinking individuals who still remember the past.  In your Grandfather’s kingdom we were revered.  Our covens and packs were made of the strongest warriors in the world because we allowed only the very best to join our ranks.  We were the Elite.”

“What happened?”  Stiles was pretty sure he knew but there were still a few characters in his Mother’s fable he had to assign names to.

“Your friend, The Ogma, deranged purist that he is.  The Dark Seraphs bring retribution on those who defy our laws, but in a society of warriors bound by blood an honor they had almost no power.”

“What did he do?”

“He was the one that sabotaged the formation of the Great Empire.  Oh it was never traced back to him, but the King’s guard was composed entirely of our kind and we know the truth.”

“He pinned it on you.”

“Yes,” Callum hissed, fangs fully out and eyes solid black.  “The Light has always been closer to humans than the Dark, and we used to _be_ human.  He accused us of conspiring with them to assassinate the royal family so that the plan for assimilation could go forward.”

“But that happened anyway?”  Stiles frowned in thought for a moment while Callum waited with an eager expression on his face.  Why would Gerard have engineered the fallout between the clans if his ultimate goal was establish peace anyway.  Well, peace might be a little too strong a word for…  “Son of a bitch that’s it!  It’s about _temptation_.  He’s spent two thousand years engineering a state of affairs where a single infraction risks war and exposure.  With things constantly on the edge of chaos who’s going to complain about taking “hard measures” to ensure the common good?  Meanwhile Gerard and his family have all the food they can eat and an unshakable political powerbase.  It’s…brilliant.”

“That’s not the word I’d choose for it,” Callum grumbled.

Stiles took a deep breath and tried to stop geeking out over his revelations on Fae history.  The important thing wasn’t that Gerard’s grandiose machinations belonged in a Bond film but that he’d actually been pulling it off since the rise of the Roman Empire.  The old man had just gotten a great deal more frightening in Stiles’s estimation.  Besides, Callum was masterfully manipulating him.  “So, what does all this have to with me?” he asked cautiously.

“A lot of people aren’t satisfied with the Fae’s two party approach.  My kind can propagate ourselves faster and more easily than any other type of Fae, which is why we’re so carefully monitored.  Even if we chose the recruits with the greatest potential influence in the human world it would still come down to a fight when the Elders try to stop us, and a flock of newbie vamps just can’t snuff it.”

Now it made sense, a terrible life threatening kind of sense that made Stiles swallow nervously “My blood.  That’s your secret weapon, right?  Vampires hopped up on dragon juice?”

“I’m not going to try and threaten or coerce you, just make an offer.  You needn’t even formally ally yourself with us; we can compensate you generously for your donation.  It can be a business transaction and you can keep your hands clean.  As a show of good faith I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“What?”  This was probably going to be something he’d want to un-know later.

“Gerard killed the Great Dragon personally.  I know your Father is in possession of an Imperial blade.  Those daggers were forged in a Phoenix’s fire, not even the Ogma can survive its touch.  You can get close to him.  Be careful, though.  He’s the eldest of the Dark Seraphs, which means he’s hunted down the deadliest criminals in the Fae world for three thousand years and killed them all. If you decide to take a shot, be sure you don’t miss.  You won’t live long enough to take a second, dragon or no.”

With that Callum turned and opened the door, the twining plumes of smoke vanishing as the privacy spell was broken.  “Enjoy the rest of the party.  A…new friend of mine said he’d be dropping by.  I think you’ll find he shares many of our interests in common.”

Stiles reached out with his senses but all he could detect was the cacophonous clash of dozens of Fae auras milling around together.  He needed to get Derek and his friends together.  The smile Callum gave him as he left had practically dripped blood and cruelty.  Whoever this “friend” was he wasn’t coming for the canapé.

 

 

 

Derek was at his side the instant he returned to the main hall “Stiles!  There you are.  What’s wrong?” he asked sensing his distress.

“I had a little chat with our fangy friend.  Something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me some things…I think we’re being played.”

The wolf’s brow furrowed with frustration “I’m so sick of all this.”

Stiles rubbed a hand up and down his arm soothingly “I know.  But right now we need to get the others.  Someone’s coming and I think I can guess who.”

“But-

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” The Cypress clapped her hands twice to get everyone’s attention.

“Fuck!” Stiles hissed under his breath.   Derek’s eyebrows flew up in shock at the vehemence behind the profanity.

“If you’ll all proceed out back it’s time for Lighting of the Yule.”  She cast a scathing glance at Stiles as she swept out, her gown swirling around her dramatically.

“Keep your eyes open,” he whispered.

Derek, who had longer limbs, waved their friends over as they made their way out with the crowd.   Soon Stiles was surrounded by a protective screen as the young Fae rallied around their leader. 

The small park behind the courthouse had been transformed in a similar manner as the interior.  The perimeter was lined by braziers the filled the air with the invigorating scent of warm cinnamon, another procession of ice sculptures placed evenly between them stood as solemn witnesses to the night’s festivities.  Most of the lawn was taken up by a roped off area, the center of which held a massive fir tree, sere and brown and wrapped in garlands of paper and dried herbs.

“Oh wow.  I read about this online.  You know in some parts of the world humans still do this too.”

Jackson rolled his eyes “Please tell me you haven’t started a Fae Wiki or something.”

“No but that would be awesome!  Hey, maybe Danny could help me with that?”  The Kapua snorted.

“Uh, Stiles?”  Scott’s voice was shaking with some emotion he didn’t recognize.

“What is it?”

“I have a bad feeling.”  Allison’s eyes narrowed, her aura flaring silver and blue as she began scanning the area for threats automatically.  _Seraphs_.

“Me too, buddy.”

“We can’t just leave…”  Lydia frowned, glancing nervously at her mother, currently berating whoever was in charge of the fire.  “Wait until the lighting, then we can bow out during the oh’s and ah’s.”

“Mara, Sara, and I can make sure it’s _extra_ engaging,” Zachariah offered.  Between the Sirens and the Wisp the audience might be mesmerized for hours.

“Good idea,” Stiles said, “But not too much.  We don’t want the place burning down.”  He chuckled at his own lame joke while Derek rolled his eyes, but the werewolf’s nostrils flared in anticipation of the cloying smoke.

Actually the smell of gasoline was starting to bother him too.  The base of the tree was surrounded with a teepee of timber, a classic campfire setup grown to massive proportions.  Next to it, the Cypress was still reaming some poor guy dressed in the solid black that marked the waiters, valets, and other party staff.  It looked almost identical, if less expensive, than what Callum was wearing. 

The bottom dropped out of stomach.  The more sensitive or intuitive members of their group flinched at his sudden rush of fear, which flared into terror when he saw what was in the fire attendant’s hand.

It was a can of denatured _alcohol_ , not gasoline.

“Look out!” he cried, but it was too late.  There was a flash of silver as someone in the crowd tossed a lit Zippo into the near edge of the circle.  Fire blossomed on the ground, racing round and round towards the stacked wood in a tightening spiral. 

“Mother!” Lydia screamed.  The Cypress grabbed the attendant and pulled him over the over the thin streaks of flame just as they the center.

Fae screamed as the woodpile exploded, revealing three figures tied to the Yule’s trunk as it went up like a birthday candle.  Whatever method had been used to subdue them expired as they burned, agonized shrieks quickly dying off in the intensity of the blaze.

“The spiral!” Allison hissed in recognition.

While most of the partygoers stared at the pyre with rapt horror Stiles tried to get the group moving “It’s the Alpha!  Come on, we need to…” he trailed off when he turned to face the courthouse and saw the man standing on the steps in a tux that was creepily identical to his own.

The Alpha gave him a sassy wink and threw his head back, jaws distending as he roared.  In the wake of his entrance the only sound was the merry crackling of the fire as the Fae stared at him stunned.  Stiles recognized him.  He’d seen pictures of the man in the old newspaper clipping he’d dug up on the Hale family.

“Uncle Peter?” Derek asked in disbelief, blood draining from his face.

“I heard there was a party,” Peter Hale said with a gloating smirk, “I hope you don’t mind; I invited myself.”

The Cuhullin stepped out of the crowd “Under the Authority of the Dark Elders I’m taking you into custody.”

“Save it Chris.  I am simply finishing what your sister started.”  The Seraph’s mouth snapped shut, the confusion on his face morphing into suspicion when he saw the berserk rage on his sister’s face.

“Katherine Argent!” the Alpha roared.  “For conspiring with humans and the murder of Clan Hale I accuse you of treason against the Dark.”

“Preposterous!” Gerard bellowed as he stepped forward, “You have no evidence.”

“No?  We’ll see about that.  In the meantime I _do_ have a witness.”  Derek flinched as his Uncle turned his glowing red eyes on him.

“What?  Nothing to say?” the Ogma sneered.

It was Allison who answered.  She gave Scott a small smile as he squeezed her hand in support “It’s true.  My Aunt trespassed onto Light territory earlier this week to assault and threaten Beta Hale.  Almost a dozen people heard her confession.”

Gerard went purple with fury as an ashen-faced Chris grabbed his sister’s arm.  Allison collapsed in on herself, tears streaming down her face as the Elder Seraph’s burning red-gold stare hammered into her “You!-

The Cypress interrupted whatever he was going to say “Sorry to interrupt your little Dark Fae family comedy, but there are three human corpses roasting in full view of the public.  Perhaps we could adjourn until later?”

Stiles was impressed she managed that level of sarcasm.  If he tried to say something snarky right then he probably would have thrown up from the stench.  Derek was shaking.  Between his wolfy nose and PTSD it was amazing he hadn’t already passed out.

“Of course, my lady,” Peter said with a mocking little bow, “Derek, Scott, if you would.”  The Betas’ feet began trying to drag forward of their own volition.

Stiles saw red.

“No,” he whispered with his Voice.  There was a mass shocked inhalation as the power vibrating through the air forced nearly every Fae there to freeze in place for a beat.

Peter just smiled “No?  I’d heard you took after your mother, Stiles, but I must admit you’ve come a long way very quickly.”

H let the dragon recede form his voice “Yeah well, I felt very motivated after the time you _hit me with your niece’s severed torso_.”

A spasm of pain and regret passed over the Alpha’s face “If you want to blame someone for her death, blame the bitch that left me burned out husk.”  He was picture of grief and righteous fury. 

Stiles didn’t buy it for a second.  “Whatever, you can’t have my friends.  They belong to me,” he said infusing the words with command.

Peter threw back his head and laughed “They’re my pack, boy, but I’m happy to let you continue _bonding_.”  The psycho gave him a knowing leer.  _Ew_.  “But you _will_ return them to me on the next Full Moon.  If you wish to discuss a more permanent alliance you know what you have to do first.”

There was a blinding flash of scarlet light and Peter was gone, the flames of the bonfire winking out in a puff of lavender smoke.  Callum’s handiwork probably.  At least if he’d used a sound suppressing spell like he had before their epic confrontation might have gone mostly unnoticed by the human residents of Beacon Hills.  Still, it was time to call in emergency services…

Panic caught his heart in an icy grip “ _Where’s my Dad!?”_

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Stiles found package waiting for him on his doorstep after they’d fled the chaos in the wake of Peter’s big reveal.  Inside were several dried bundles of herbs and note containing instructions for the privacy spell and the message “ _It’s just business_.”

“I get that you’re close to your “Dad” and all,” Jackson said while poking at one of the spiraling plumes of smoke gamboling around the living room, “But he _is_ just a human.”

“Shut up you stupid _fairy_ ,” Scott snarled coming to his defense.

“Hey!” Danny barked in mock outrage.

“You know what I mean.”

Lydia just sighed at her boyfriend’s utter lack of tact and said “Maybe we should just let Stiles tell us why he asked us here, and why he felt in necessary to magically ward our conversation.”  The look she gave him said she was no fool and suggested he ask next time before pulling her headlong into a potentially deadly plot.

“Obviously we’re up to no good,” Derek mused.  The werewolf was standing behind the chair Stiles was sitting in with a hand placed on his shoulder.  In fact since the debacle at the courthouse he rarely stayed out of physical contact for more than a few seconds at a time like might float away without someone to ground him.  Stiles was very okay with being that person.

“Callum’s coven is planning a coup, Peter’s their ally, and they want me to support their cause.  The vampire promised not to try any high-pressure sales tactics on me, but Uncle Creeper likes the direct approach and took my Father as leverage.”

“Way to summarize, Stiles.”

“Thanks Danny.  Allison, I’m sorry but I have to ask: do you know what’s going on with Kate and Gerard?”

The girl looked awful.  She hadn’t been close with the Ogma but she’d said more than once that Kate had been like her big sister.  “They disappeared from the party.  My Dad’s trying to track them but…”  Stiles had assumed hunting the master hunter was going to long and frustrating as best.

“We’ll worry about them later then.”  Besides he had a pretty good idea where and when they’d make their move.

“Can’t we appeal to the other County heads or something?” Jackson asked, “I don’t like the idea of waiting around to get my head chopped off as soon as my back is turned.”

Lydia shook her head “The Ogma isn’t elected like the others.  Gerard claims the title by virtue of being the most powerful of the Dark Elders.  No one from either side is going to risk crossing him over an unproven accusation from a werewolf.”

“Besides, Deaton sent me a text.  The Elders are getting the hell outta dodge.”  Stiles wanted to _eat_ the conniving gutless lot of them.  “We can assume they’ll wait until the dust settles so they know which side to back.”

“Speaking of sides,” Scott said pausing to take Allison’s hand, “With Peter back does that make me Dark Fae?  And what about Derek?”

The older werewolf looked awful.  His face still hadn’t regained its color and his expression was so woefully hangdog the normally sexy stubble was making him look derelict and haunted.  “Peter is your maker and now the patriarch of Clan Hale.  Alphas have almost absolute authority over their packs; we are _literally_ his.”  Scott’s wasn’t the only expression that darkened in response to that statement.  “We can run, but we’ll fall to Omega status if we do.  Then it’s open season on us if we do.  It’s unlikely any pack, Light or Dark will take us in.”

“Screw that,” Stiles snarled, claws and fangs extending, “and screw Peter too.  I’m not going to make any kind of alliance with that crazy-assed motherfucker.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Derek asked softly.  “An Alpha werewolf could practically keep you fed indefinitely all by himself.  My family’s name and resources could open just about any door you could choose.  It’s a smart move.”

Stiles rolled his eyes extravagantly “Right, because I’m all about making the smart move.  How about this instead: I hold him down while you rip his throat out, with your teeth.  Then you can be Alpha.”  He decided not to elaborate on all the feeding he hoped to do with him, there were ladies present after all.  The message came through anyway if Danny’s knowing look was anything to go by.

The hope blossoming on Derek’s face made him look years younger.  Jackson groaned as Stiles’s face brightened in reply “Gods save us from puppy love.”  Lydia gave him another swat but leaned in for a kiss.

Stiles’s total absence of jealousy clinched it, he was totally goofy for the brooding werewolf.

“Peter implied that Stiles’s mom was a dragon and that he knew her,” Danny said changing the subject, “Does that mean _he’s_..?”

“Gross, no!”  Stiles got a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about it.

“But then where was she hiding for two millennia?  And where exactly did you come from?”

“My Mother always said I came from heaven,” he answered in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah, heaven?  Maybe the _other_ place,” Scott teased.

“That whole Satanic imagery thing is blatant racist stereotyping, Scott,” he said with a sniff, “I expected more from you.”

“You’re deflecting,” Danny challenged.

“Maybe I am.  Look, I _just_ finished putting the pieces together myself.  I need some time to understand what it all means before shouting my pedigree for the whole Fae world to hear.”

“But…what if you have family somewhere?  Your Father?  I mean…”

“I know what you mean, buddy.  I’m pretty sure I haven’t got any family left.”  It was weird mourning something he hadn’t known he’d lost, especially since it all happened so long before he was even _born_.

“Wrong,” Lydia said firmly, “You have us.”

“Do I get any say at all in this?” Jackson wondered aloud, futilely while his girlfriend smiled sweetly at him.  “Right, dumb question.  Fine, Stilinski, we’ve got your back.”

“I’m melting over here from all the warm fuzzies,” he deadpanned.

“Too bad, Your Grace,” Derek said coming up to hug him from behind, “Looks like you’re stuck with us.

“Damn straight,” Scott said looking at Allison, the question on his face as obvious as his desperate hope.  The Seraph looked conflicted but nodded anyway, making her boyfriend smile like the sun.

“So what’s the game plan?” Jackson asked, “How do take these sons of bitches down?”

“ _We_ don’t,” Stiles answered.  “Peter takes care of Kate, Scott and Derek handle Peter; Gerard murdered my Grandfather, he’s mine.”

Pretty much everyone immediately started screaming variations of “are you insane!?” at him except Derek, who just squeezed him a little tighter and made a small sound that was half wonder, half fondness, and all exasperation.

“Hey pipe down!  I didn’t say you guys couldn’t be there, just that this has to be handled a certain way so it doesn’t come back to bite us all on the ass later.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Allison asked, “Gerard is powerful.  Even if you can defeat him the Dark will retaliate.”

“Unless I can somehow prove my good intentions toward the Dark Elders,” he said with a significant look.

“What!?” Scott squeaked, “Does that mean you’re joining _The Dark Side!?”_

“This isn’t Star Wars, Scott,” Danny said with a sigh, “Dark doesn’t mean _evil_.”  Derek grunted in agreement.

“I’m not declaring for the Dark.”  Saying it aloud like that Stiles realized for the first time he’d already made his decision.  Furthermore he knew his friends, no his _family_ , would follow him when he announced it, come what may.

“You plan on giving them Callum,” Lydia said catching on, “Putting down a coup within the Dark that threatens both sides will go a long way to smooth over any ruffled feathers.”

“Bingo.”

“What about your Father?” Derek asked spoiling Stiles’s touching moment.

“Peter and/or Callum must have humans working for them, probably in exchange for getting turned.  Not even _The Ogma_ was able to breach my Mother’s protection.  Also, they think I need his dagger to destroy Gerard.”

“You think you don’t” Jackson asked incredulously.

“I know it.”

“Stiles…” Allison started but he cut her off.

“Okay, so I’m not strong enough _yet_ , but will be if I can do a full shift.”

Lydia smiled in anticipation “I see where you’re going with this.  You’ll need an absolutely massive feed just to prepare yourself to take in that much power on the night of.”  Beautiful, brilliant, vicious, his strawberry blond goddesses’ only flaw was that she wasn’t Derek Hale.  “Do you need help figuring out the transmutation?”

He shook his head “Callum’s a witch.  If I show up at the exchange packing major league alchemical reagents he might sense it.   But I know of another catalyst, the _perfect_ one actually, and best of all it’ll already be there waiting for me.”  Unless he was wrong, in which case he was going to die horribly when he tried to “transmute” with it.

Scott looked completely baffled “Uh, could someone please explain?” His confusion was understandable, since Stiles was leaving all the parts that would result in a mutiny followed by his being FedExed to Timbuktu to protect him from himself.

“You remember how I healed you the night you got shot?”

“Not really, but Doctor Deaton keeps going on about it… _oh_.  That doesn’t really seem like the same thing, healing and feeding.”

“Semantics,” Stiles countered with a dismissive wave of his hand.  Embarrassingly his claws were still out because he could feel how much Derek was enjoying their closeness (“enjoyment” was pressing firmly into his hip) and it was affecting him more than a little.

“But you’re sure this will work?”

Not even remotely “You betcha.”  You didn’t need to be a werewolf to hear the lie but Scott let it go, at least for now.  Stiles knew he was getting an epic lecture later.  “Okay. Everybody huddle up.  Here’s what I’m thinking…”

Together they plotted late into the night beneath the winding trails of warding smoke, laying out a scheme that would hopefully get them out of this mess with all their limbs and autonomy intact.  They would have to fill Zachariah, Mara, and Sara in later.  Right then Stiles was glad to just be with his new family: two werewolves, one Libera, Fairy Prince, Kapua, Seraph, and a (half)Dragon.  This time it was _Kate_ that was going to burn.

 

 

 

 

Eventually the others left, leaving Stiles and Derek alone to fidget across the coffee table in less than comfortable silence.

“Soooooooo…Scott’s going to tell his Mom about the Fae stuff.”

Derek snorted.  “Any chance he’s planning on getting that on film?”

“Ha, _no_.”

“I’m happy for him, though, that he has someone to help him through this, someone who really cares for him.”

Derek needed to work on his use of subtext; currently he was fishing with dynamite.  “Yeah,” was all Stiles could think to say in reply.

They floundered on wordlessly for a subjective eternity while awkwardness built to ill-timed locker room boner levels.

The wolf broke first “I’m gonna go ahead and head out; it’s late and I…yeah.”

Stiles hesitated while the older man stood and shrugged into his jacket, letting him get almost to the front door before he decided, screw it, he was going to go for it.  Drawing on his draconic power he blurred forward to place himself between Derek and a disappointing end to the evening’s excitement.  “You’re not going anywhere.”

“No?”

He swallowed taking a step closer as the werewolf’s nostrils flared scenting Stiles’s arousal, eyes flashing electric blue.  “No.  It’s not safe for you out there until we get this mess sorted out.”

Derek inched forward until they were so close they were breathing the same air.  “Are you saying I’ll be safe with you?  You did almost eat me that one time.”

Tactlessness had its advantages after all.  Stiles wasn’t getting a green light so much as a floodlight.  He leaned in to whisper in Derek’s ear “I’ll only bite if you ask nicely first.”  It was hard to say who moved first, but the werewolf’s greater mass carried them into the door as their lips crashed together, cracking it.  This, this was good.  Much better than worrying over Fae politics, or death threats, or what torments his Father was currently enduring as Peter’s guest.  It wasn’t quite _right_ yet, but if everything went to according to plan Stiles and the future Alpha would have plenty of time figure things out.  But since the odds of his deranged scheme coming off without a hitch were nonexistent he wasn’t going to waste a second in the meantime.

Their furious make-out session carried them all around the first floor, toppling chairs, sending knickknacks flying, and generally making a hell of a mess.  For a  
while Derek was in the lead while he clung to him like a barnacle hanging off the man’s painfully sculpted shoulders, legs wrapped around the perfectly tapered waist.  By the time they’d worked their way into the kitchen, however, his control had begun to fray as his hunger rose and it was Stiles that wound up slotted between the werewolf’s muscled thighs, plopping him down on the counter.

The redness was taking over and the dragon had no desire to stop it whatsoever.  He broke off the kiss just long enough slice through the seams in Derek’s Henley with a deft flick of his talons before he was he was exploring that glorious chest with his tongue, delicately trailing his razor sharp fingertips over the skin eliciting a delicious shudder.

“Stiles,” Derek gasped, “We have to stop.”

“No,” he snarled, “I don’t want to and I can tell you don’t either.”  He traced the outline of Derek’s erection, nails catching on the denim with a scraping sound that made him long to hear the fabric tearing in his hands.

“You’re losing control.”  Okay so he was covered in scales, big deal.  “Besides which you’re sixteen and your Dad is the Sheriff who is, by the way, invincible. Please.”

It was the please that did it, the way it sounded like it was torn painfully from Derek’s throat.  Stiles took a couple of steps back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply until he felt his shift recede.  “You’re right,” he sighed.

“You just need to practice your control.”

He tapped his lips thoughtfully with a now human finger “It could take me a while to get it down, though.  We may have to spend a lot of time practicing,” he said seriously.

Derek moaned theatrically “Oh well, I might as well since I’ll be living here and I’m sworn to protect you and all.”

“There is that.”

“First let’s try sleeping together, actual sleep.”

“Shirts off?” he asked hopefully.  There were still a lot of contours he had yet explore.

“Fine but the pants stay on.”

“Alright I’ll _sleep_ with you, but if you wake up impregnated with my mutant spawn you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

“Spawning talk is heading in the wrong direction I think.”

“Whatever.”  Stiles leapt up into Derek’s arms damsel style.  “Carry me away to your den to not ravish me you big bad wolf you.”

“Gladly.”

They giggled like schoolgirls all the way upstairs to the bedroom, but as soon as they were snugly wrapped up in one another under the covers everything Stiles was trying to avoid thinking about began gnawing its way back in.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Derek whispered, “I’m here; I’ve got you.”

And he did, absolutely.

Stiles was asleep in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like moving quotes from the show around for these AU's. I always like watching flaming racists get their comeuppance so it tickles me to use that as a vehicle for blending two of my favorite worlds.


	8. Everybody Needs to Take a Fae Off Once in a While.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up in Derek's arms and takes advantage of their...proximity.
> 
> The werewolf takes him on a special trip to get his mind off things and Stiles makes a surprising new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sterek! Not quite explicit but hopefully satisfying. 
> 
> Warning: Stiles's taking advantage of Derek's half-asleep-ness may be considered dub-con-y. But only if that's particularly trigger-y for you.

Stiles woke up in stages.

The first things to return were tactile, the soft slide of the worn cotton sheets as his chest rose and fell, the heat radiating from the body wrapped around him, the tickle of the hair on the back of his neck stirring in Derek’s breath.  Next came the wolf’s wild musky scent, hickory, citrus, and blood.  He made a sleepy contented sound and pressed back into the comforting warmth.   As his thoughts began come together the memory of the events of the night before rose like a dark tide sweeping away the peaceful feeling, but the arms around him tightened reflexively at the sound of his heartbeat rising, a warning growl rumbling in the werewolf’s chest.  It was weirdly soothing and unutterably bizarre, feeling so safe and protected lying with a such a beautifully dangerous creature.  He squeezed his eyes shut tighter before the morning light could steal him away to full alertness and slid back down into lazy reveries, putting off the real world for just a bit longer.

Too soon Derek stirred behind him “Mmmm, morning.”

“No.  No wakey.  Sleep.”  He was more or less pinned down by the larger man’s muscled bulk but managed to burrow his head under the covers.”

“This seems awake.”  Stiles’s breath hitched as a broad hand drifted down his stomach to brush his morning wood through the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms.  He canted his hips experimentally, flushing with excitement as the friction against Derek’s hardness caught between made the man shiver and growl with pleasure.  “You’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

Thinking back on their conversation the night before, he counted himself lucky to catch the man in an agreeable moment.  No sense wasting it.  He repeated the motion, harder, falling into a lazy rhythm as he tilted his head back giving Derek access to his neck.  Whatever reticence remained in the werewolf’s sleep-addled brain seemed to evaporate as his latched onto the vulnerable flesh, sucking and worrying at it with his teeth as he began to move his hips in languid, rolling thrusts, adding to the pressure.

Stiles slid his hand over the one lightly cupping him, easing it up and slowly working it under the elastic waistband of his pants.  Derek took the hint, fingertips following the trail of fine hair downward to wrap around him in hot, firm grip.  They moved together in silence save for their rough breathing mixed with the whisper of cloth on and cloth and the muffled slide of skin on skin as Derek’s hand worked him in time to their motion. 

It could have been minute or hours, but by the time they had unhurriedly made their way to conclusion their breaths were coming in ragged pants and still they kept the slow pace, dragging it out until the anticipation had grown to blaze that made Stiles shake.  Unable to wait any longer he snaked a between them and slipped in Derek’s pants to grasp his hot length, slick with precome.  The angle was awkward but they were so close it didn’t matter.  He marveled for a moment at the unfamiliar silken slide of the werewolf’s foreskin as he teased the sensitive spot just under the head. Their rhythm faltered as Derek went rigid, coming all over his hand with a deep groan that rose into a whine at the end.  Hearing the man come undone sent Stiles over the edge with a keening sound that would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t caught up in the most _intense_ orgasm of his _life_.

Stiles had just had _sex_.  With a _man_.  An _older_ man.  No, and older _wolf_!man.   Fooling around/feeding with Jackson and Lydia at that party didn’t even come _close_ to comparing.  He rolled over to look at his lover, heart fluttering at the look of rapt adoration on the man’s face as they leaned into a sweet kiss.

“Your eyes are different,” Derek said when they broke apart.  “They’re white, like diamonds or crystal or something.”

Like Scott’s had been that night at Deaton’s.  “Interesting.”

“Your scent is different too, brighter.  It’s how sunlight would smell.  Even when you shift it’s always there under the surface but now…It’s like you’re shining at me.”

“My biological Father _was_ Light after all.”  To say nothing of the other reasons.

“I’ve been thinking about that actually.”

Danger Will Robinson, danger.  “Oh.”

“Just remembering some stuff I overheard our Moms saying.  I think yours knew my grandmother.  Our families had a history together a long time ago.  It seems like an odd coincidence that the Dragon’s reappeared here of all places, where there was both a family of their sworn vassals and The Elder as well.”

“And what do you conclude from that?” he asked cautiously.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Gerard’s face when you fully shift for the first time.  The old bastard’s going to have an aneurysm when he sees your wings.”

“You need to be careful about who you say things like that to.”  As much as Stiles loved being able to share his secret with Derek he was terrified of the things people might do to the man to get that information out of him.

“I’d die before betraying you.”

He didn’t doubt it with the fervor burning in the man’s voice, which only made it all that much worse.  “No dying talk.  If you get your furry ass killed trying to protect me I will bring you back so I can kill you myself, understand?”

Derek smiled “As you wish, Your Grace.”

“Ugh, I hate it when people call me that.”

“You were born a…king, so suck it up highness.”

“Does that make you my queen?” he asked drily.

The werewolf leaned in to whisper in his ear “I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”

Stiles shoved him off with a groan while the ass chuckled “Aren’t cheesy pick up lines supposed to come _before_ the sex?”

“You think _that_ was sex?  Silly dragon.  When I’m Alpha and this territory is mine again I’ll show you what sex is.”

Stiles swallowed nervously as the anticipation shuddered through him “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  The lascivious leer vanished as Derek vaulted off the bed to his feet, he motion displaying his impressive physique with a mesmerizing ripple of sinew.  “Just as soon as you’re a legal adult.”

“What!?” he sputtered, “No!  You… _tease_.”  Stiles was pouting, arms crossed over chest petulantly despite the fact acting like a third grader was probably counterproductive.

Derek rolled his eyes “Get up.  You need a shower before we head out.”

That shocked him out of his sulk “What?  I thought we decided it’s not safe to go roaming around when deranged Avenging Angels are trying to assassinate you.”

“That’s why we’re not staying in Beacon Hills.”

“So where are we going?”  He struggled his way out of the bedclothes and managed to get vertical with a minimum of klutzy flailing.  Now was _not_ the time to look like a newborn foal trying to take its first steps.

“It’s a surprise.”  Without further explanation the villainous cockblocker breezed out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind him while Stiles stared slack-jawed.

“I’m in love with an asshole,” he muttered when he heard the shower running.  Shit! Werewolf hearing!  Hopefully Derek had missed it over the sound of the spray.  Actually Stiles wished more than a little that the werewolf would run back in naked, dripping, and glistening to kneel at his feet and declare eternal love.  While he was down there he could even take care of the problem that arose while Stiles was imagining looking down at the lust dilated eyes of two hundred pounds of hot wet werewolf.  Oh well, if Derek had heard him and decided not to swoop in and live out his fantasy he would just have to listen while Stiles took care of it himself.

Legal adult his ass.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The drive was one of the most enjoyable of Stiles’s life.  They about books, movies, the places they would like to travel to if their lives weren’t embroiled with Fae mayhem.  Derek was a fan of classic rock (shocker) and occasionally they would sing along when a favorite came on the radio.  Well Derek sang, he a surprisingly smooth light tenor, while Stiles crowed “like a rooster being strangled to death”, which was a fair description in all honesty.  He was built to _roar_ after all.  By the time they reached their destination some two hours into the trip he had completely forgotten the “surprise” waiting for him.

The werewolf, it turned out, was something of an adrenaline junky, taking the winding mountain roads at a speed just shy of active suicide.  Stiles knew intellectually that it was unlikely a car crash would kill them even on the steep terrain but unlike Derek he hadn’t had a whole lifetime to get complacent about shrugging off injuries that would kill or cripple a human.  When they finally pulled into a wide bowl-shaped valley nestled between the shoulders of two low peaks he was all too ready to get out of the Camaro and maybe kiss the blissfully stationary dirt out of sheer relief.

His worries about a fiery death by car crash were replace by curiosity as they pulled onto a dirt road with a wrought iron arch over it bearing a triquetra surrounded by beautifully rendered ivy.

“Where exactly are we?  Oh God, is this the part where you kill me and bury me on a dude ranch in the Sierras where no one will ever find my body?”

Derek made an adorably canine chuffing sound at his pseudo-histrionics.  “No.  I can smell how hungry you are and I thought you might like to go on a hunt with me.  I know Lydia’s cooking up a monster feeding party but it’s probably better if you’re not starving when you get there.”

Stiles didn’t melt into a puddle of goo at the thoughtfulness of the gesture but it was a near thing.  “So what is this place?”

“It’s a ranch a friend of my family owns.  Sometimes we would come up here on Full Moons and thin the deer population for him.”

“Uh, he isn’t like, one of those Human Farmers Danny’s family gets their meat from, right?  I’m all for eating organic but I’m not sure I’m ready to run me down some free range virgin.”

“Relax, Stiles, it’s not that kind of ranch.”

“Then what _does_ he raise?”  It had to be something super unorthodox if he was going to be able to get any significant nutrition from it.

“It’s more of game preserve.  This whole area is warded to keep humans out and the animals in.  The woods are full of underfae and rare mystical beasts.”

“Like that Golden Bull the Cypress had.”  His mouth watered at the same time his stomach roiled; it was a deliciously uncomfortable memory.

“Exactly.  The owner’s gone into town for supplies so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

They pulled up to an old farmhouse that was so archetypically pastoral Stiles felt like he’d fallen into Western, despite the fact that aside from the giant red barn and a few currently empty corrals the entire place was untouched pine forest.

“Are we hunting for anything in particular?” he asked nervously as they got out of the car.

Derek shrugged and began stripping “Cyrus said there’s a mature Hind that’s been giving him headaches, testing the fences and such.”

“Hind?  As in _The Golden Hind?_   Also, why are you getting naked?  Dude!  Are you going to turn into an actual _wolf_?”

The werewolf rolled his eyes “Pretty much.  And because we’re about to chase something down and eat it raw; our clothes would just get dirty and bloody.  Don’t call me “dude”.  And you’re thinking of Wolf Shifters, not the same thing as werewolves, don’t even get me started on them.”

“Why?  Did they beat you in the competition for Best in Show?”

If dog joke offended him Derek gave no sign, bummer. “No, they’re like Frat Boys with fur, mercenaries that work for the Fae Kings, the boot licking tools.”

“You’re just jealous of their lustrous pelts.  Hold on, our clothes!?” Stiles squeaked.

“Fine, I’ll leave my underwear on.  You can go as you please, but if you get entrails all over my interior you’re cleaning it up, okay?”

It was so not okay.   Derek’s tight black boxer briefs left nothing to the imagination.  Every line and curve of what Stiles had so far only gotten to touch was clearly visible, and his nails and teeth began to elongate at the thought on getting on his knees, shredding the offending garment, and going to down.  The sudden tang of blood in his mouth as a fang punctured his own tongue helped him get a hold of himself.  He _really_ needed to work on his control if he ever wanted to be able live out that particular fantasy.

“I’m keeping my pants.”

The werewolf nodded, shifting into Beta from “Take off your shoes, though.  You’ll want to have the extra grip.”

Stiles kicked of his sneakers and let the change sweep over his arms and legs, arming him for the chase.  Neither of them mentioned that instead of the usual scarlet and black his scales were pure shimmering white.

Derek’s fanged grin was fierce as he said “Let’s hunt.”

 

 

After an hour they still hadn’t seen hide or hair of their quarry. Although Derek had picked up numerous old trails none of them were fresh enough to indicate the Hind had gone that way recently.  Stiles own nose though far superior to a human’s was nowhere near as sensitive.  He could however sense the life essences of the fae beasts that moved unseen on the periphery, some of which felt more than string enough to support a feed.  Truthfully he was going along with their quest for the Hind because he was really enjoying watching his wolf in his natural element.

“So is this some sort of wolfy courtship ritual; sharing a hunt to show me how strong and provider-y you are?”  He’d meant it as a joke but from the way Derek’s face became carefully neutral he knew he’d hit close to the mark.  “Oh my God, it is, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.  I just wanted to…I don’t know, impress you, maybe?”  The embarrassed look was all the cuter on that ferocious visage.

“No, it’s definitely working for me.  Lead on gentle suitor.”

“Wait here,” Derek grumbled, “I’ll scout around a bit to see if I can sniff something out.”  The werewolf turned and darted off into the trees without waiting for an answer.

Stiles silently berated himself for _literally_ sending his maybe-boyfriend running away from him.  He walked over to a massive fur and began idly stripping away the outer bark with his talons.  When all that was left was pale wood leaking sap he carved a crude face with huge angry eyebrows and captioned it “Sourwolf”.  With a sigh he started pacing around the small hollow they’d stopped to rest in.

That was when he saw it.

Whoever had decided that unicorns were something girly had obviously never _seen_ one.  The beast was enormous, maybe twenty hands, and all muscle shifting visibly under the short, gleaming white coat as it approached him fearlessly.  Then there was the horn.  Fully three feet long if it was an inch and as big around as one of those oversized cans energy drink, tapering to a rounded point.  But it was its aura more than its physical appearance that stunned him.  It radiated blinding white, purity and innocence solidified into a cloud of light that he was sure carried over into mundane vision.

It walked right up to him.  Stiles held out a hand and let it nuzzle its broad nose into it with a soft whinny.  He took that as permission to move closer and began carding hi fingers through its silken mane.  “You know I wondered,” he said, not really expecting the beast to answer, “After I found out about all this Fae Stuff, if everything I read about as a kid was real.  But I never imagined you.”

The unicorn tossed its head, making a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

“Go ahead and make fun all you want.  It’s only been a few weeks and already I’ve seen so many things straight out of a horror movie I still sometimes wonder if this is all a really vivid nightmare.

It moved closer, giving Stiles access to its shoulders and regarding him with one huge eye of molten silver.  He obligingly started scratching away while he went on.

“Then I see something like you or the way Derek looks at me and I start to wonder if the nightmare was before, and I’m just waking up to something truly wonderful.”

The unicorn bopped him upside his head with its heavy jaw.

“Ow!  Okay, I get it, no naivety here.  I just worry sometimes about the things I may have to do to survive in this world.”

It was hard to tell without pupils as landmarks but Stiles was pretty sure his new friend rolled its eyes.

“You’re right.  If I was all bad you wouldn’t have come to see me, would you?  By the way, do you have a name?  Calling you “unicorn” seems kinda speciest.”

“Unicorn” tossed its head in a clear negation.

“Okay then.”  He leaned down to check “Okay, so guy unicorn.  I guess I’ll call you Cynfarch; it’s Welsh like my name.  I’m Anddraifoch, by the way.”

Cynfarch began swishing his tail up towards him.

“Oh, you want me to…”  He left the soft hair fall through his fingers, a small bundle remaining after the rest of the tail had passed through.  “Thanks,” he said stunned, “I know a gift like this is a big deal.”  At least he assumed so, but that might be from rereading _Harry Potter_ one too many times.  “I promise I’ll put it to good use.”  His new friend bobbed his head and turned away, trotting off into the trees leaving Stiles to stare after him in wonder.  “Wow, so that happened.”

“It’s rare honor, seeing a unicorn,” Derek said behind him.  Stiles may have squealed like a little girl, a fact all the more humiliating as the sound echoed off the mountainous landscape.

“Asshole!  You’re lucky I didn’t claw your ass.”  He clicked his talons at the werewolf threateningly.

“Like I said before, not until you’re legal.” 

Stiles choked on whatever he’d been about to say next.  “Wait, I thought your friend Hagrid kept this place specifically for magical creatures?”

Derek rolled his eyes “His name’s not Hagrid and you don’t _keep_ unicorns; they don’t even live on this plane of existence.  Cynfarch came here to see _you_.”

“You were _listening the whole time_?”

The wolf shrugged “He knew I was there.  So tell me, why didn’t you eat him?”

Stiles was taken aback, appalled at the very idea.  Now that he thought about it though, from the way the unicorn’s aura had looked it would have lasted him for months all on its own if he had.  “Honestly it never even occurred to me.”

“Of course not.  But most others would do worse.  Unicorns rank among the most magical of all living things, not unlike dragons.  Humans and Fae alike have hunted them near to extinction.  Nowadays centuries can pass between sightings.”

“So this hair..?” he asked holding up the long silken lock.

“A gift fit for a king.  Some of my family’s more valuable tomes survived the fire.”  Derek actually looked _shy_ as he said “You can look through them, if you want.  They might give you an idea how you can use the hair.”

Stiles knew the taciturn werewolf well enough by now to recognize the significance of offering up one of the few mementos he had of his family.  “I’d like that; we can look through them together sometime.”

Derek looked absurdly happy “Really?”  The joyful expression turned serious “You’ll have to do your homework first.  You have school tomorrow.”

Stiles face-palmed.  “School!?  Why did you have to remind me!?” he wailed dramatically.  “What does a dragon need a high school diploma for anyway?”

“A dragon might not, but you do.  Even when you’re underachieving you get straight A’s; you’d have a slow meltdown if you blew off graduating.”

Only Scott and his Dad had ever known him so well.  He felt so many warm fuzzies it hurt.  “Fine, but I’m making you help with my English essay.  _The Once and Future King_ is so…” he trailed off as a breeze came up out of nowhere, carrying a scent that made Derek tilt his head up, nostrils flaring.  “What is it?”

“The Hind.  I think it’s another gift from your new friend.”

 

 

 

They found it about a mile upwind drinking at brook, the cheery babbling sound of the flow concealing their approach.  Derek didn’t hesitate, darting forward to take advantage of the animal’s inattention.

It didn’t help much.  The Hind moved with a speed Stiles would never have imagined possible from a creature of flesh and blood, rendering it little more than a golden blur as it danced out of the reach of the werewolf’s claws.  It turned to bolt, nearly goring Derek with antlers that swept majestically from its head like a tree wrought from gleaming brass as it went.

Stiles focused his Voice into a roar that made droplets of water jump from the surface of the stream, the magnificent stag stumbling under the power of the compulsion underlying it.

Derek slipped behind it, hamstringing it with precise slashes and bringing it down.  “Go on, the kill’s yours.”

The Hind was far from dead and those prongs looked wickedly sharp but the wild glee radiating off the werewolf was infectious and Stiles was very hungry.  He approached from the side, out of reach but as he looked into its eye the beast stilled like it was accepting its fate.  The antlers felt warm and smooth under his hands, and with one sharp jerking motion he killed it painlessly, silently thanking it for its sacrifice.  The metallic gleam became dark and tarnished as he sliced open the shoulder to expose the muscle, feeling the warm rush of life trickling up through his talons as he did.

He looked over at Derek who was beaming at him full of pride.  “Show me how to butcher it?” he asked, letting him take the lead.

Together they ate their fill, Stiles consuming more than simple physical nourishment as he went.  Somehow there was little left of the enormous stag by the time they lay next to the stream after washing the blood off their hands and faces.  The rest they would leave for the forest’s other denizens.

“So how was it?” Derek asked idly stroking his slightly distended stomach.  He looked a little unsure of himself after revealing the wilder aspect of his nature.

“I could get used to it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”  The smile Stiles got was nearly motivation enough for regular visits.  But now that he was fed and flush with strength his thoughts inevitably turned back to the mess he’d put out of his mind for one blissful day.  “I guess we need to get going now, things to do.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, face falling.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Stiles asked.  His house looked small and empty as they sat in the parked in the driveway.  He didn’t want to go inside, like that would make everything too real somehow, coming home to find his Dad still hadn’t been there.

“They won’t hurt him,” Derek replied confidently.

“Because they know we’d rip them into bloody scraps of meat if they did?”

“Yep.”

He wanted to skip right to the ripping, more than a little.  “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I’m kind of a mess.  Wanna go get cleaned up?”

They got out the car.  His feet were leaden as they walked to the front door, the sound of the key turning in the lock a death knell.  He pushed open the door but couldn’t bring himself to walk through.

“Here, I’ve got you.”  Derek spun him around and ducked down, allowing Stiles to clamber on to him in a parody of their furious kissing the night before.  Silent tears began streaming down his face as he was carried up the stairs to the bathroom.  “Let’s get you into the tub.”  He didn’t take baths, preferring showers as a rule, but he didn’t object as Derek out in the stopper and turned on the taps.  While it filled he let himself be gently stripped as the tears kept flowing.  “Do you want me to..?”

“Stay,” he said resolutely.

“Okay.”

When they were both naked and the tub full, Derek eased him into the steaming water before getting in himself, settling behind Stiles with his arms and legs circled around him protectively.  Any other time it would have been the stuff of torrid teenage fever dreams, but there and then there was nothing erotic about it.

The crying continued while the werewolf slowly cleaned them both with the unscented body wash Stiles had bought out of consideration for wolfy noses.  Under the fear and misery a small ember burned in his heart, each tender motion fanning it brighter until it was a bonfire inside his chest.  By the time Derek had finished toweling him off there were no more tears.

He buried his face in the man’s chest as was carried down the hall to his bed and screw masculine social constructs.  Once they were safely under the covers naked with nothing keeping them apart he plastered himself to Derek in an embrace that probably would have crushed a normal man.  “I love you” he whispered hoarsely.”

“You better be careful, wolves mate for life you know.”

“Hoping to scare me off already, then?”

“Never.  And I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay random mythological creatures! I like casting the Hales as underfae eating foodies, really playing up that whole predator nature deal to make a better blend with more prominent essential natures of the Fae in Lost Girl.


	9. The Battle of Fae Armies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia organizes a special party so Stiles can gather strength to face the Ogma and Peter. The intrigue comes to an end where it started as Stiles finally reveals the truth about the origins of the Light and Dark as well as his own and makes a decision that will determine the course of all their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion! I wrote these last chapters over Thanksgiving, which in my family equals almost and entire week steeped in alcohol and Southern cooking. There nay be some weirdness that slipped my notice. Also, I went Whedon-happy with my shameless referencing.

Stiles felt like he was losing his mind.  Everything in his life was just so _normal_.  He went to school, hung out with his friends at lunch, went to lacrosse practice, made dinner, and did his homework.  The only outwardly unusual thing was the twenty-four year old werewolf sharing his bed and even that was way weirder than it should have been.  After their one wonderful morning Derek had put the physical aspect of their relationship into deep freeze.  Not that he wasn’t affectionate, oh no, that would have made some actual sense.  Instead of being standoffish the man had become a human octopus, a cuddle happy Kraken raised from the depths to kill him via blue balls.  Stiles plot to intensify things by catching the man on the edge of sleep when only Derek Junior was up and at ‘em was foiled before it began.  If he couldn’t smell the werewolf on his skin every morning he wouldn’t have known they’d spent the night tangled up I one another.  The man seemed to need far less sleep than he did, and there was just no out waiting him or catching first thing upon waking.  It was _beyond_ frustrating.

Hi rapidly decreasing stock of lotion was not his only source of vexation; Lydia had gone insane weaving her webs of intrigue.  Somehow, even when he didn’t have plans with anyone in the group they always seemed to show up anyway, totally coincidentally, and always with a plausible explanation as to why.  It was so obvious she might have well as just chained them all together and spared everyone the effort of maintaining pretense.  And she still wouldn’t tell him about the party she was putting together, no matter how he begged, except to say he was going to be full for a year.  He was a hair’s breadth form snapping and just eating _her_.  If only she was a dedicated to working on locating his Dad, but she was right when she said there was nothing they could do.  The Fae kept things in house and they had covered up the Sheriff’s disappearance, whammying the whole department so thoroughly nobody thought it was the least bit strange the man had up and gone on an extended fly fishing trip _without taking Stiles_.

Of course, he was still arguably having a much better week than Scott.  Stiles loved Melissa McCall like a favorite aunt but he was having a hard time not storming over to their house and giving her a piece of his mind.  She had not taken her son’s abrupt initiation in the magical mystical world of the Fae with much grace, or acceptance, or any reaction at all behind sobs and a pervasive expression of sorrow/horror.  That first night after the hunt he had turned up at the Stilinski house so desperate for company and support he just crawled right on into bed with them without noticing that Stiles was naked and half on top of an equally nude Derek.  _That_ had made for a fun Monday morning.  He didn’t even have Allison, not outside of school hours anyway.  The Cuhullin had gone off the deep end in the wake of the revelation of his Sister’s crimes and was taking overprotective Dad to literally inhuman heights.  Stiles was expecting him to show up at any time demanding that he remodel Castle Stilinski to include a tower and a moat so Allison could be safely locked in a dragon-guarded keep.

Maybe it wasn’t Stiles who was going mad; he might just have been experiencing sympathetic symptoms as everyone _else_ cracked.  Even Deaton was acting cagier than usual, refusing to get directly involved because “Even the Elder cannot blithely interfere with the internal matters of the Dark”, the chicken.

He’d never been so glad to see Friday, an impressive feat given his all around contempt for the academics at Beacon Hills High.  Scott had started looking forward to school for non-Allison related reason, the freak.  Derek had appointed himself Stiles’s minder and had expanded his aggressively pro-homework agenda to include his new packmate under threat of multiple fractures.  Their teachers were giving themselves wholly undeserved pats on the back for the skyward trajectory of Scotts’ grades.  But hey, whatever helped them sleep at night; it was no skin off his nose.

Lydia and her minions looked a little drawn at lunch.

“What’s wrong JakJak?” he crooned at the fairy, “Been burning the… _candle_ at both ends?” he asked with suggestive leer at Lydia and Danny.

Jackson looked like he wanted to glare bloody murder but was just too tired to pull it off “You’re hilarious, Stilinski.  Especially since I’ve spent the last week personally vetting every single _item_ on tonight’s menu.  Only the choicest cuts of meat are fit for our fearless leader, apparently.”

A dreamy expression came over Danny’s face at the double entendre.  Stiles didn’t want to know if the Kapua was imaging having sex with the no doubt gorgeous men Lydia had lured into her trap, or if he was imagining having them as _actual_ cuts of meat.  Worse, it was entirely possible he was doing some combination of the two.  All this Fae crap was never going to be not creepy.

Lydia sighed tiredly “It’s necessary.  We’re all in this together and we need Stiles big and strong so we can turn him loose to rampage all over our enemies.”  She must have forgotten to recharge her discretion the night before or something.  It was not comforting.

“Wow, nothing says eleventh hour desperation quite like completely abandoning tact,” he drawled.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder “Bite me lizardbreath.”  Yikes, just how long _had_ she gone without sleep?  Zachariah, Mara, and Sara hadn’t even bothered to show up that day.

“Sorry, I’m just a little tense.  And hungry.”

“Bambi didn’t do it for you, huh?” Jackson sneered.

Stiles took the high road and looked at Scott, but his best friend wasn’t riding up on a white horse to defend him any time soon.  The guy was too busy frozen in an exchange of soulful looks with Allison, which is how they spent every free second during the school day.  Seriously, they looked like they were in a scene from an old movie where the dude’s about to get shipped off to war.  He pushed away that thought because it was kind of true and he wanted to focus all his attention on being indignant.  Tomorrow they were planning on knowingly walking into a prisoner exchange that was almost certainly going to devolve into a battle scene from a Tolkien novel.  Right now he just wanted to be a self-absorbed teenager with his head up his own ass, so sue him.

At least Danny had his back “Don’t worry man, the guy who owns Jungle is one of us, an incubus.  He’ll be helping out with some pheromone action, not that you need it since you have Derek and all.”

“Can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him _where_ we’re going.”  Stiles was pretending he hadn’t been able to sense Derek lurking outside the school all week like a creeper and could probably hear them right then.  The guy had lost so much preserving his dignity was a small but meaningful kindness.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The party was in full swing when they arrived at the club.  From the look on Derek’s face you’d think was going swimming in a shark tank with a dead tuna hanging around his neck.  Everyone else was already in position, Allison and Scott on the roof to cover the high ground and make the drop for Callum, the rest inside doing their part to up the potency of Lydia’s mojo.  It was going to take a whole lot of juice to enchant so many people at once so it was all hands on deck.  All except for Jackson who was mostly there to stand near his girlfriend and glower.  That and enjoy the attentions of a crowd that thought he was pretty one in their couple.

“I’m not sure about this; this is not how werewolves feed,” Derek hissed as they got out of the car.

“Well, you’ll just have to save some room after filling up on yummy human chi, since you’ll be eating your words later.”

The man looked massively unconvinced.

“Relax.  We’re here to pretend to have a good time.”

“As long that’s the bar we’re shooting for I can manage.”

“Good.  Now let’s go get our bacchanal on.”

He dragged Derek inside past the bouncer on the door who just waved them on and were met immediately by a table covered with artful towers of martini glasses, some down to a single tier, and filled with a red cocktail of some kind.  A sign hanging off the edge read “Free!”

“It’s like Christmas!” he crowed, only to have his hand slapped away as Lydia materialized next to him out of the fog and flashing lights.

“Those aren’t for you, this is.” She said holding up a tiny vial of something thick and crimson.

“Do I want to know what’s in that?”

“No.”

“Cool.”  He took potion, unstoppered it, and tossed it in one motion.  “Blegh!  I’m afraid you’ll have to abandon your dream of becoming a mixologist Lyds…holy crap!” he cried when her outfit finally registered.

She was made up like a drag queen.  Ever a stickler for authenticity she added padding and cosmetics just so, creating a very convincing illusion that she was in fact a man dressed as a woman.  Her heels were high, her dress short and tight, and both star spangled red white and blue.  Even her _eyeshadow_ was made of stripes of metallic glitter in America’s colors.

“You look very…patriotic.”

“Lady Liberty at your service,” she said with a courtesy.  “It strikes the right chord at the meta level and I couldn’t pass up the pun.”

“But why are you…oh!”  Someone had erected a low platform and placed three microphones in stands on it.

“WWBMD?” she asked before sashaying off to take her place in the literal spotlight.

“Stiles, what the hell is going on?”  Derek’s eyebrows had run off and hid in his hair somewhere, making his shocked eyes look even larger.

“Did you ever see that Disney movie _Hocus Pocus_ when you were a kid?”

“Yeah, so?” he asked nonplussed.

“Well, What Would Bette Midler Do?”

Derek growled “I wish I’d never met you,” but barely managed to keep his frown in place hile his eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Liar.  Come on, I want to get a good spot.”

As they forced their way through the crowd that had stopped dancing and turned to face the stage, Stiles felt potion go to work.  The first time he’d done this it had been all roiling red power and wicked hunger but they were going for a different vibe tonight.  Just as well since he was the one anchoring the spell; Lydia was going to be too busy keeping the audience captive to have an epileptic fit as he pulled a metric fuckton of energy through her. 

The Libera raised her hands, quelling the boisterous party with selkie hypnotism.  When she spoke it was with a rougher, deeper voice than normal “Ladies and gentlemen and ladies who are gentlemen,” she paused for some excessively enthusiastic laughter and applause, oh yeah, she was dialing it up to eleven, “Thank you for being here tonight for a very special Coming Out Party!”  More cheers and a few catcalls to boot.  “Now our guest of honor is a little bit shy so it’s up to us to show him what a good time he should be having!”  Mara and Sara took up positions at the other two mikes.  Sirens as backup singers, hoo boy, the poor clubbers would be lucky if they didn’t dance themselves to _death_.

Lydia waved a hand and the music started, complete with light cues, because naturally she had to have her own choreographed display.

_“It doesn’t matter if you love him…”_

“No way,” Stiles choked out between peals of laughter.

“What did we ever do to her?” Derek asked woefully.

_“Or capital H I M…”_

“Don’t pretend, you secretly love this song.”

“I do not.”

_“Just put your paws up…”_

Stiles flicked his gaze down at Derek’s hands and then back up mounting _“PAWS!”_

_“Cuz you were born this way baby…”_

“When in Rome!” Stiles yelled putting his hands on Derek’s hips as Lydia launched into an up tempo remix of Lady Gaga’s _Born This Way_.

The werewolf’s frown finally broke as they got swept up in the energy of the dancing horde, liberated by the bacchae’s influence and focused by the music and the efforts of the other Fae.  The giant blur of mingled auras wasn’t scarlet but pure crystalline white, simple and more life affirming than it was lusty though it was plenty that too.  Stiles tried to channel it slowly by drawing it in as took measured, even breaths but soon gave up and started drinking it down like a man three days lost in the Sahara drinks water.  As he danced unselfconsciously for the first time ever he let some of the energy flow into Derek whenever their skin touched.

Lydia kept up a constant procession of obnoxiously upbeat chart toppers that he would never have admitted to knowing the lyrics to, much less liking.  Stiles kept feeding until he felt like every cell in his body was buzzing with joyous, undiluted _life_.  He’d been wrong all this time.  Being Fae was fucking _amazing_.  It wasn’t until some of the humans began to slump against the walls, partied out, that he pulled Derek off the dance floor and down a back hallway to the office that had been left open for them.

“Are you ready for this, Der-Bear.”

“Never call me that.”

“Sure, sure.”  He hopped up on the desk, parting his legs so Derek could come in close for a kiss.

“How do I do this, exactly?”

“You know this is only my second time doing something like this, right?”

“Stiles…”

He rolled his eyes and took the bracelet he’d woven from Cynfarch’s gift out of his pocket and slipped it on Derek’s wrist.  “Just kiss me, I’ll handle the rest.  When I’m done Peter’s not going to know what hit him.”

The werewolf snarled and crashed their mouths together with a clacking of fang on fang.  It was more like rescue breathing than kissing really, but sharing chi like that was even more intimate than sex in a way.  And Good God did it feel great once Derek got the hang of it and started pulling it though Stiles on his own.

Too soon Derek had taken as much as he could hold, less than a tenth of what Stiles had started with, but enough that he didn’t feel like he was going to vibrate apart any second now.  “See wasn’t that better than running after things in the woods?”

“It was nice,” Derek panted.

“Nice?”

“Fine, it was incredible.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t prefer to hunt.”

“Yeah, yeah wolfy heritage stuff, I get it.”

His phone bussed in his pocket.  “Scott’s made the drop; Callum has the blood,” he said after reading the text.  “I guess that means all of the invitations to our little soiree tomorrow evening have gone out.”

“That’s not how I would describe it.”

“Embrace the happy go-go super chi you just wolfed down.  We can freak out over how crazy this plan is after it succeeds.”

Derek’s tone was superficially harsh but his smile genuine “You’re being overconfident.  With people coming from four different factions this could get very messy very fast.”

“It’s not a question of over-attendance,” Stiles replied with a grin, “It’s about _balance_.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“You know we could have just driven all the way up to your house.  That way we wouldn’t have had to walk and we’d have some cover when the fur starts flying.”  Stiles really didn’t like walking up the wooded road.  He felt like Kate and Gerard’s crazy eyes were staring at him from the shadows of every tree.

“No way I’m using the Camaro as a shield.  Besides, aren’t you the one always going on about cardiovascular health?  Walking is good for you.”

Scott snickered “He’s got you there.”  The guy was slightly loopy from Lydia’s ministrations but at least he wasn’t trying to eat them.

“It’s so sad,” Stiles moaned, “I’m the only little dragon on earth, being ganged up on by a pack of snide werewolves.  It’s discrimination is what it is.”

Derek grunted agreement “We all have our crosses to bear.”

“Maybe we should have brought some cross _bows_ to bear instead,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry, Allison is watching over us,” Scott said confidently.

“Sheesh, look at us.  Dating the Guardian Angel and the Guard Dog, every worry about what our romantic lives say about us?  I feel like we’re losing guy points running for the protection of their big strong arms.”

“I’m not a _dog_ repltile boy,” Derek growled.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Stiles said innocently.  “Oh look, the house.”  There it was, looming up out of the forest as morbid and creepifying as ever.  “Is Peter here yet?  I don’t sense anything but all the oldest and scariest Fae seem to be able to hide their auras.”

“He’s here,” Scott confirmed, “It’s like I can hear him calling me.”

“It’s because he’s your Alpha,” Derek said, his expression bordering on murderous.

“Hey, easy there Der, don’t want you going all Cujo until the bad guys show.”

“Stiles for the last time stop-

A streak of silver leapt from the trees and buried itself in Derek’s calf.

“Arrows!  They’re throwing arrows at us!”  Stiles extruded scales over his entire body, taking no chances that a stray shot might hit some draconic Achilles heel nobody told him about.

“I can see that!” The older werewolf snarled, down on one knee while he tried to work the arrowhead out without damaging anything worse.

Scott shifted, and together with Stiles they managed to catch or deflect the incoming volley until Kate came into view carrying a silver bow like it was an extension of her arm, flanked by half a dozen goons armed with everything from flails to automatic weapons.

“Well isn’t this convenient.  I was hoping you’d be out tonight but I didn’t really  think you be dumb enough to actually show.  I guess you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks, huh Derek?”  Her next shot flew too fast at that range, slipping by Stiles and Scott and burying itself in Derek’s arm.  “But at least you fetched me a dragon like a good boy.”

“And you dated this nutcase?” Stiles asked sotto voce.

“Not one of my finer moments.”

“Stop this Kate,” Scott demanded, “You don’t have to do this.  You don’t have to hurt innocent people.”

“Sorry brown eyes, but werewolves are even less than human.  You just don’t count.”  She drew a gun with her free hand and shot Derek in the chest.  He fell to the ground with an agaonized groan.

“And what about me?” Stiles asked in a whisper, filling his Voice with all the strength he’d draw from feeding off some two hundred humans less than twenty-four hours previous.

The goons looked like they were about to soil themselves but Kate just threw her head back and laughed.  Stiles could see her aura and it was a hundred subtle shades of blood red and charcoal gray slithering around chaotically like serpents made of cinder.  Her burning golden eyes couldn’t hide from him the fact that she was unquestionably, absolutely, batshit crazy.  “You, I’ll keep as a pet until I’ve used up every last drop of your precious blood.”

“Sorry lady but if you think I’m licking your hand you’ve got another thing coming.  I don’t even want to know where it’s been.”  He really did feel bad about the dog jokes but it was too tempting while Derek was laying there actually playing dead.

“You won’t have a choice.”  She turned her gun on Scott.  “Sorry Scotty.  Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Allison.”

A shot rang out but from back the way they’d come, taking Kate’s weapon clean out of hand in a terrifying display of marksmanship.  Her thugs cried out and staggered as arrows bit into their thighs at a rapid but regular cadence, putting the six of them on the ground in as many seconds.  Damn Allison was a good shot.  The whole argent family was just multiple levels of scary.

“Back down, Kate before I put you down,” Chris ordered, melting out of the dark in black fatigues.

“Sorry, Cuhullin, but I think someone’s head has grown a little too big frothier title,” she scoffed.  “I’m just taking control of bad situation.”

Peter must have been waiting for a straight line like that, the creepy melodramatic asshat.  Kate tried to raise her bow but she was too busy with villainous dialogue to be properly prepared and the Alpha had her by the throat in an instant.  “Hello again, Chris.  Thank you so much for this lovely welcome home present.”

“Give her to me.  I’ll see she answer for her crimes.”

“Where?  At a tribunal that Gerard controls?”  He shook his head.  “We are on my pack’s sovereign territory.  Since it’s currently just me I am literally her judge, jury, and executioner, and We the People find the Defendant to be…” his claws opened her throat down to the spine, “Guilty.”  He dropped her to the ground to bleed out but his look of triumph lasted for about half a second before ropes made of solidified shadow bound his arms to his side.

“Thank you for making this so easy for me, Hale,” Gerard said.  The man hadn’t snuck up wearing camo he’d just wrapped darkness himself like a friggin’ cloak of invisibility.  More shadows slithered aside to reveal another set of goons.  Did they use some kind of fae rent-a-thug service or something?  “Mad with grief over the death of his beloved daughter and son, the Ogma lashes out and accidentally kills the rabid dog that did it instead of bringing him before the Dark Elders.  I have a lovely eulogy written out and ready to go.”

Stiles was starting to doubt the viability of his plan; this guy was evil and hardcore on a whole other level.  At least Derek had finished getting the arrows out and healing surreptitiously.   He was going to have a hard time explaining the new bullet hole when he returned the Kevlar vest to the station though.

Peter just laughed “Easy?  What, you think you’re the only one who has friends in low places?”

More than a dozen vampires rushed forward in perfect silence, eyes glowing cherry red from Stiles’s blood turbocharging their undead flesh.  Gerard whirled to face him as the newcomers subdued Chris and the thug collective in seconds “You!  I offered you a throne and you chose to ally yourself with these abominations!?  You’ve signed your own death warrant.  Neither Light nor Dark will offer you anything but retribution now.”

“We’ll see.  Hey Uncle Pete!”

“Yes, Stiles?” the Alpha asked mildly.

“My Dad, please?”

“Of course.”  The door to the house creaked open and the Sheriff staggered out grimy, bound, gagged, and groggy but not hurt.  He was being pushed along by a petit redhead in a nurse’s uniform, which may have been the most bizarre sight so far that evening.

Nurse pushed his father the last couple feet but Stiles caught him, slicing his bonds with careful talons and easing the man down beside Derek.  “We’ve got you, you’re safe.  Ish.”

Callum approached him offering the hilt of his father’s dagger “You’ll be needing this then.”

“Yes, yes I will.”  He took the blade and turned to Gerard, who was still surrounded by a wide margin of empty space.  Everyone was understandably all too eager to let him handle The Lord of the Dark Seraphs.  “You murdered my Grandfather.”

“And you’re nothing but a pathetic shadow of him!  You’re not going to kill me with that, you don’t have it in you.”

“Interesting choice of words.”  He reversed his grip on the knife and drove it into his own stomach.

“No!”  Callum screamed as the vampire watched his visions of an empire die in front of him.  “Take them!”  More vampires grabbed Derek, Scott, and his Father as Stiles fell to his knees clutching the hilt sticking out of him and trying to steady his breathing.

“Well I certainly never thought you’d take this road,” Gerard laughed.  “I guess I’ll be writing a third eulogy.”

“How about a fairy tale instead?  You know the one.”

“As you wish, it is so poetic after all.  A bedtime story to lay you to your rest.”

Callum stared at them through the exchange like they’d both gone mad.  To be fair, Stiles knew he was playing this way over the top but he needed to stall.  Besides, he’d been practicing his speech all week.

Beads of sweat began trickling down his face as recited his mother’s words.  “Once upon a time there were two great kingdoms, one Light, one Dark.  To avert the inevitable war between them the High Kings decided to join their kingdoms through marriage.  So that they would be able to rule fairly for the all people the Dark Princess and the Light Prince were both sent live in the other’s kingdom to learn their ways.  At first the Princess was furious.  She hated leaving the forests and mountains of her homeland for the teeming cities of the Light kingdom.  But under the tutelage of a wise druid she slowly learned love the people of his land.  Though the power of destruction ran in her veins she discovered ways to use it for the good of others and began to dream of life among the common folk.  When the time came for her to marry the Light Prince she was sad to set aside that dream, but she had a duty to her family and the people of both kingdoms.”

His vision had begun to darken around the edges.  Almost there.

“But her Father’s advisor was an ambitious man and coveted her hand.  Seeing how she was changed by her journey he gave up all hope of claiming the throne for himself and instead plotted his revenge.  On the night of the wedding when all were soundly asleep, exhausted from celebrating, he sent an assassin to steal into the bridal chamber and slay the newlyweds, intending on blaming the heinous crime on the Light kingdom he so despised.  Before the deed was done the Prince awoke and struck down their attacker with his own blade, but not before the Princess was mortally wounded.”

“It was sad, true, but isn’t it the tragic love stories that endure the test of time?” Gerard opined.

“Hey!  Respect the narrative flow much?”  The Ogma sighed and made a “move along” gesture.  Stiles felt a scorching blaze searing its way out of his bones and into his blood, but it was anything but painful.  He smiled.  Gerard, Peter, and Callum were toast, and their little dogs too, they just didn’t know it yet.  “See, the story doesn’t end there.”

“No?”

“No.”  For the first time uncertainty flickered over Gerard’s face.  “Because, while the Dark Princess could bring destruction, the Light Prince carried the gift of renewal.  When he saw his beloved wife dying he offered up his life that hers might be saved.  With her husband dead and her heart broken she called upon the wise Druid and her most trusted guards.  They spirited her far away from the two kingdoms in secret.  When she discovered she was with child she despaired that she should have to raise he baby alone as the world fell into chaos and ruin.  So the Druid bound her in an enchanted sleep until the day came that she could have the family and the simple life she’d always dreamed.  He planted a great oak tree over her resting place to watch over her and made her guards vow that one day their descendants would return to fulfill their duty to protect the Princess and her child.”

“No.  It…it’s not _possible_.”  Stiles’s smile became positively _wolfish_.

“Years and years passed before the Druid finally cut down the tree and woke the Princess in a new world.  She met a good man and they married, raising their son together, a normal family at last.”  Stiles stood and removed the dagger from his stomach, holding it up to show the lack of blood on the blade.

“But that was forged in a Phoenix’s fire!”  Callum protested.  It was hard tell on a vampire, but he looked a little pale.

“What do you know, so was I.  I’m terribly sorry, Cal, but my family gave their lives trying to bring peace between the clans and I can’t let you start a war that will tear them apart.  Thanks for bringing me this though,” he said waving the dagger, “I was having zero luck getting in touch with my inner firebird.”  The vampires all dropped their prisoners and turned to flee but Stiles roared “Stop!”  With his blood running in their veins they didn’t have a prayer.  “Look at it this way: you still succeeded in one of your goals.  Thanks to you I now have the power to destroy the Ogma.”

Gerard laughed high and cold and completely void of anything resembling sanity “I survived your ancestors to become the greatest of the Dark Elders.  I am The Hunter!  The Angel of Death Himself!”

It was so perfect “Even angels fall.” 

His friend’s made their move as he spoke the code phrase.  An exhausted Zachariah slumped down on the Hale House porch from the overwhelming effort of keeping so many people insubstantial for so long, but he had given them the chance to get into position.  Mara and Sara unleashed their siren whistles on Peter’s sensitive ears giving Derek and Scott an opening to attack.  Danny had shifted into the form a gargantuan Kodiak bear and bore Jackson on his back sword in hand and a fierce smile on his face.  As they layed into the Argent goon squad Stiles got to see firsthand why the Fairy Prince’s were generally regarded among the deadliest warriors in existence.  He might back off on the teasing just a bit in the future.  Allison was turning Peter, now in full Alpha mode, into a living pincushion while Lydia hovered on the periphery with her wand in one hand and what looked like an Erlenmeyer flask in the other.

Stiles took the vampires.  It wasn’t really a fight since they were stuck in place like statues made of white marble.  He knew now what had lain hidden in his blood, the white fire that had been revealed when Deaton made that potion.  All it took was a thought to set it alight, sending the coven up in flames that burned bright and pure as magnesium flares.  Phoenixes had fed on death much like their mortal enemies Dragons had fed on life; it was the sacrifice that mattered.  Callum and company were both dead and alive and had served themselves up on a silver platter.  Stiles opened his jaws and swallowed it all down.

Oh.  My.  God.

If he’d sucked the entire nightclub dry it wouldn’t have amounted to a fraction of this.  This was creation and destruction in the form of living flame.

“It’s just you and me then, boy!”  Gerard raised his hand and darkness rushed in, forming a blade so dark it sucked light from the air around it, sheathing him in twisting shadow.

“Neat trick.  Let’s see how you like mine.”  He shredded his shirt but left his pants alone.  Hopefully he wouldn’t grow so large they exploded.  He had no idea what was going to happen to his junk when he shifted fully but modesty was the last thing he needed to be worried about right now.

The white fire ran wild through his body, erupting out of his skin a coruscating inferno that blazed like a star and momentarily stunned all the combatants on the field into stillness.  The flames winked out as abruptly as they’d come, leaving Stiles to take stock of himself.  His vision was so clear and powerful he could count the hairs his friend’s heads, more than good enough to make out his own reflection in their eyes.

He looked more or less like he’d expected.  His head had become an elongated snout with powerful jaws and a mouth full of teeth like steak knives.  The forward curving bull horns were back but for some reason there were six of them.  A long neck extended from a torso only slightly larger than it was normally.  He stood on the same powerful hind legs he’d seen before and, yep, he’d undergone some major anatomical rearrangements he’d rather not think about too much.  The tail was odd, broad and thick, covered in huge plated scales like one of those weird anteaters.  But just as Derek had predicted, t was his wings that were the real attention grabber.  Instead of being bat-like or pterodactyly they were massive bird wings like those of a condor, the feathers gleaming white with a prismatic shimmer just like his eyes and scales.

Gerard let out a ululating war cry and charged.  Stiles turned aside the first swing with his horns but the second caught him across his shoulder.  He was a little surprised when the blade cut him even though it healed almost instantly.  Good to know.  Instead of waiting for the next strike he swatted the Dark Seraph with backside of his left wing, sending him flying through the air like a shadowy comet to smash into the ruins of the house.  A house made of old, dead wood.  It was time to see if phoenix fire was actually hot.  He could apologize to Derek later.

With a hop and a flap of his wings he took to the air, scattering the people on the ground like feathers in a gale with the force of the downdrafts he made.  Oops.  He moved over the house and roared.  Crystalline fire rose up in a swirling maelstrom, chewing through the wood with supernatural speed.  In less than a minute all that remained was concrete, porcelain, and metal pipes, everything bit of dead organic matter had been reduced to a fine primordial dust.

Except for Gerard.  He lay under a pile of collapsed plumbing with what looked like a sink from an upstairs bathroom crushing his chest, but he wasn’t dead.  Actually from the fury burning in the man’s red-gold eyes he was about thirty seconds from round two.  Stiles looked around for something…final that didn’t involve him coming in reach of a blade.  Then he realized he was literally surrounded by viable options.  He glided over to a large pine and alit next to the trunk.  Spinning he whipped the broad scales of his tail at the base of the tree.  It went almost all the way through with a whining buzz like a bee the size of a Volkswagen.  He jumped back into the air and kicked, snapping it the rest of the way off.  Getting a grip on it with the talons on both his front and hind legs was awkward but he was _strong_.

By the time he was hoveringly drunkenly over what remained of the house Gerard was just disentangling himself from the pipes.  Stiles didn’t let him finish, folding his wings and driving the trunk straight down.  Hopefully his wings wouldn’t burst into steam or something if they touched water, because the getting Seraph paste that splattered all over them out of his feathers was going to be a bitch.

It took a second to sink in.  _He’d just squashed another person like a bug_.  He had to get it off of him right the hell then.  In a single blinding flash of white the last remnants of the Ogma returned to the earth to feed new growth.

He hopped out of the concrete box that formed the basement and released his shift, hands moving to cover himself just as soon as his talons were safely put away.  Everyone was staring at him.  “Did we win?”  His friends, his Father, and the Cuhullin nodded mutely staring at him with wide eyes.  “Uh…that’s kind of creepy, that _Children of the Corn_ silent head bob.”  He sought out Derek’s face but unlike the others he his expression was totally blank, not a muscle moving.  “Sorry about your house.  Wait where’s Peter?  Is he…” he trailed off as the werewolf’s eyes glowed red.  “Oh, so…yeah.  But..uh…where’s all the..?”  Bodies.  There weren’t any.  Neither was there a single fallen leaf or pine needle anywhere in sight.  “Yikes.  I guess I got a bit carried away.  On the bright side, this place will be covered in flowers and stuff when spring rolls around and I know they say real closure takes time but I think-oomph!”

He was suddenly in the center of a massive group hug, Derek centermost and wrapped around possessively.  The new Alpha caught his lips in a kiss that quickly heated up until the others were reeling back with catcalls and disgusted noises.

Stiles didn’t really care right now but he was naked in the middle of a February night and should probably get some clothes, which reminded him “I need to rent a tux.  What am I talking about, I already have a tux.  I need a new tie!  Whatever, anyway there’s this winter formal in a couple weeks and I don’t have a date yet.  Wanna go with me?”

“Stiles,” Derek growled like his name like it was a benediction and a curse at the same time.

“I’ll take that as a yes.  Good thing too because I have a very special afterparty idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reveal! Oh snap. Did you like the method of Gerard's demise? I thought he needed a good and unceremonious squishing. Literally. 
> 
> To clarify: Phoenix fire doesn't actual burn things; it's not hot. It returns dead and dying organic matter to a non-living, inert state. Basically it's super fast decomposition.


	10. Fae-ing for Keeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek reflects on his choices and his future with Stiles as they attend the Winter formal and a special party afterwards, where Deaton has a surprise waiting.
> 
> They finally have a moment to celebrate in private.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Derek POV! Sex! Sorry, I'm just excited to put NaNoWriMo #2 to bed. For some reason the smut felt super awkward to write; I hope it reads okay. My brain was having some kind of ambiguous pronoun conniption.

Derek was absurdly happy for the first time in…well, ever, and somehow it was all because of the boy on his arm.  Actually calling him a “boy” was wrong on several levels.  First and foremost, because if Stiles was a “boy” then Sheriff Dad was going to shoot him.  A lot.  And he would deserve it, not that that had helped him keep it in his pants.  Technically pants had never come off but whatever.  Secondly, it was probably superlatively unsafe to treat a Royal Phoenix/Dragon Hybrid as a child; even among the Fae feathered serpents like Quetzalcoatl and Kukulkan were the stuff of myth (although it might be fun to take a trip down to Central America and scare the pants off the indigenous Fae).  He hadn’t filled Stiles in on all the gory details of his fight with Peter, but then it hadn’t been a long one.  The simple unicorn hair protection charm the “couatl” had given him did its job so well his Uncle’s first swipe was rebuffed with such force his subsequent impact with ground broke his back (he also couldn’t let Stiles know he had _The Monster Manual_ memorized, which was a lot less geeky if you’d met and or eaten just about everything in it).

But the most important thing, the _only_ thing that really mattered, was that Stiles was his mate and the very thought of hurting or taking advantage of him in any way caused Derek actual physical pain.  He hadn’t meant to give his heart to the stunning little spastic demonspawn, but it was done and he wouldn’t take it back even if that were possible.

“Oh my God, Derek!  It’s a high school dance not the Baton Death March.  Ease off with the eyebrows; I think you just made my Spanish teacher pee himself from terror.”

 _Stiles_.  “I’m having fun,” he growled.  Maybe there was a spell Stiles could cast to imbue him with some social skills.

“Yes, I can see you basking in the ambience.  Your enjoyment of this iconic rite of passage is palpable.”

Derek could only wait for him to remember Kate and remove his foot from his mouth on his own.  Because he was too overprotective of his mate to knowingly make him feel bad about being so tactless.  Sometimes being Fae blew.

“At least dance with me,” Stiles pouted, “Come on, we can’t stay long before the ceremony.”

“Ceremony” was a generous descriptor for the night’s “festivities”.  Normally so many young Fae declaring at once (some of whom were from powerful and influential families) would mandate a Ball, but when it had been suggested to the young Lord he had gotten an old soccer ball out of the garage and turned it into confetti with his talons to express his feelings on the subject.  Derek had felt an unforgivably sappy little thrill that his demonstrative physicality was rubbing off on Stiles.

He let himself be led out onto the “dance floor”.  The High School Gym was a far cry from Jungle and the dancing was nowhere near as…enjoyable.  Nonetheless it only took seconds for Stiles vaguely rhythmic flailing to force a smile out of him.  Something so haplessly adorable shouldn’t make him want to bend the young man over the refreshments table and mount him in front of God and everybody.  Derek could admit he had problem.  Fortunately the next song was a slow one, allowing him to press in close and wrap his arms around his mate’s waist.  It wasn’t as satisfying to his inner wolf as a mess of hickies but slowly swaying with their foreheads touching (and occasionally their groins) was about a clear a declaration as was socially acceptable for humans.

When the song was over Stiles said “I’m gonna go distract Coach so Jackson can spike the punch with one of Lydia’s special brews.  Here!  Dance with Danny.”

“Wow, this is awkward,” the Kapua said with a grimace.

“Yes.”

“Damn you’ve really got it bad don’t you?”

He didn’t reply, but may have left some less than necessary bruises over the guy’s hips.

“Mating a Royal, I wouldn’t pegged you for a social climber.”

He rolled his with a snort.

“It emotes!  Look, you wolves aren’t the only ones that hunt by smell, okay?  If two don’t take care of your UST soon I’ll shift into an anaconda and wrap you two up until get over yourselves and fuck.”

Derek gave him the red eyes; it had about as much effect on Danny as it did on Stiles (with only marginally less arousal scent).  What was the point of being an Alpha anyway?  “You know I’ve always wanted to hunt an anaconda.  Large reptiles?  Mmmmm.  It’s the cold blood.  It keeps the meat sweet and tender.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll jump you myself.”

“I give up,” he grumbled.

“That’s the spirit.  I know you worry about Papa Law, but maybe you should look at this from our perspective, not the one that gives the most opportunity to punish yourself.  Just think about it.”  The shifter returned to his own boyfriend leaving Derek staring after him thoughtfully.  The kid may have actually had a point.

“Miss me?” Stiles asked fibrillating back over to him.

“Neh.”

“Liar.”

That was not okay as a pet name.  Actually pet names in general weren’t okay.

“Just a couple more dances before we have to go.”

“I guess I can endure.”  Translation: please climb me like a tree.  Fuck, if Stiles wasn’t into that Derek was going to take him down like a pro-wrestler and ride him until they passed out.  Whatever worked.  He’d made his decision, and his mate’s needs came first.  Damn. He was going to have to meet with the builder’s next week to start on the plans for the new house.  The old one had been so efficiently (see: terrifyingly) demolished it was speeding up the process nicely.  Embarrassing as it was he wanted to have a nice home (den) to show (drag) Stiles.  They’d already shared a hunt and a kill, several actually, and millennia of pureblooded werewolf instinct was hard to overcome.

“Lighten up, Hale,” Jackson drawled walking up to them with Lydia in tow.  “We’re going to this snooze fest up a notch before we head out.  Try not to bring the rest of us down.”

Derek respected the fairy prince for his loyalty and combat prowess.  Maybe if he conspired with Lydia they could figure out a way to make the abrasive ass respect himself.  Stiles needed a capable general.  Whatever the couatl liked to tell himself he was a ruler and couldn’t afford to waste such a potentially valuable asset.  “Fine, but no sirens.  It took three days for my hearing to return to normal after the last time.”

“Good idea,” Zachariah said drifting towards them through the lower stratosphere.  Derek wasn’t used to feeling so short.  “My girls got their hands on some hyacinth wine.”  The ladies in question were trying to hold onto the wisps’ waist for support but were unintentionally approaching NC-17 in their drunken attempts to stay upright by grabbing onto _whatever_ part of the towering frame they could reach.

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Allison said from somewhere within Scott, who appeared to be trying to merge them into one being.

“Yeah, listen to the Guardian Angel,” Stiles said with unabashed pride as he looked at his best friend.  Derek had to give Scott that one.  He’d managed to inspire the daughter of one of the oldest and most venerated Dark families to become _Light_.  He knew better than anyone what kind of sacrifice that required.  _“The power of human love”_ Peter’s voice whispered.

“Fine,” he said surrendering, “But just so you know, I told the DJ if he played any of those pop diva remixes I’d rep his throat out.”

“With your teeth!” they all screamed in unison.  “Because you’re the Alpha now!”

Derek hated his life.

The song that started up was some techno-electronic monstrosity but the students cheered when it came on anyway.

“Dance with us, Sourwolf!” Stiles screeched over the driving bass line.

Oh hell, why not?  One of the advantages of being such powerful fae was that even the most atrocious trends fell by the wayside in the blink of an eye compared to their total life spans.  At any rate, this wasn’t about feeding; it was just about being young while opportunity presented itself and Derek knew better than to pass that up.

So they danced together, letting the subtle magic push their cares just a bit further away for a few minutes.  Every one of the teens had to be freaking out at least a little over what they were about to do, but while they showed off their ironic dance moves to laughter and applause the enormity of the evening receded temporarily.

When they stumbled out laughing to the stretch SUV limo they were so buzzed that they all completely forgot what was coming next until they pulled into The Cypress’ estate an hour and a half later.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The greenhouse/office had flourished since their last visit, the benefit of making a sacrifice to a dragon, and everything smelled slightly of Stiles.  Derek had always hated the Martin woman so it tickled him pink have the center of her power awash in his mate’s scent like it was marked territory.

The Gathering wasn’t going by the traditional playbook; it was just the kids and their families, with a few important local Light Fae he recognized.  Not that it mattered, really, it would be all over their world in a few hours.

“He’s doing this for you, you know,” the Sheriff whispered beside him as Stiles and the others made their way up onto the dais that usually held the Cypress’ mammoth desk.  He man hadn’t seemed any worse for wear when they’d first gotten him back from Peter, but in the weeks it was like he’d gotten a decade younger now that everything was finally out in the open.

“I don’t think so.  Maybe for Scott, but Stiles knows we’d follow him anywhere.  They all would.”  Derek looked at him thoughtfully.  “So would you.  I don’t think there’s ever been a human at a Gathering, much less in the throne room of one of the County Seats.”  Melissa McCall had finally come around but Scott had put his foot down, wisely deciding to keep his mother as far from the Fae as possible.

“Have I made a Fae Faux Pas?  So sorry, must have missed that chapter of Amy Vanderbilt’s Etiquette.”  Stiles had clearly gotten his sense of humor from his Dad.

“Don’t worry about it.  Somehow word got around about you kicking the Ogma’s ass that night at the clinic.  The Fae seem to think you’re a one man Spanish Inquisition despite the fact pitchforks and torches aren’t really standard police issue.”

“Is that so?”  The Sheriff side-eyed Mr. and Mrs. Mehealani, who flinched and pulled their children close.  “Can’t say that bothers me too much.”  He preened a little, straightening the seams of his dress uniform.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” The Cypress began, “We’ve-

“If I may, Susan?” Deaton asked from behind them.  Where the hell had he _come_ from?  Stiles’s story time had answered a lot of questions about why an ancient Dark family would be in league with the greatest of the Light Elders, but the guy was still enigmatic and creepy.  Anyone who could sneak up on an Alpha werewolf undetected was not to be trifled with.

“Alan,” she greeted him in a voice that clearly said “go away”.  “What brings The Elder to a simple Gathering Ceremony?”

“I thought I might handle this one personally.  I am _very_ invested in this particular group of young people.  Besides, I have an important announcement to make.”

Mrs. Martin swallowed loudly, not quite concealing her nervousness at the polite threat “As The Elder commands.”  Her descent from the dais wasn’t _quite_ fast enough to make it fleeing.

“I merely request things my dear,” Deaton said as he passed her.  “The Elder” may have been largely a title of respect, but for all that the Fae had assimilated into the more civilized modern world their base natures were just a hair’s breadth below the surface.  The veterinarian (still way too on the nose, considering) wouldn’t be able to keep it unless he was able defend it with savage prejudice.  Anyone dumb enough to challenge the ancient Druid would be obliterated in seconds.  It wasn’t Fae Politics; it was _Darwinism_.

“I take it this is unusual?” the Sheriff asked drily.

“We left “usual” behind when your son grew a bladed tail and giant bird wings.”

“Touché.”

Derek had caught Stiles reading some aggressively exotic word-porn about a dragon and a werewolf (and may have browsed the story himself later).  Just putting the words “Stiles” and “tail” together in his mind was enough send his blood rushing southward.  He put those images on the back burner for now; they had a couple of thousand years to be adventurous after all.

Once Deaton had taken the Cypress’ spot he reached in the pocket of his plain gray blazer and pulled out the coronet of the Elder, despite the fact that opulent piece of finery could not _possibly_ have fit inside it.  He held it in his hands but didn’t put it on.  “Tonight we recognize the Pledge of Fealty of these young men and women, and welcome them among the ranks of the Light.”

As if on cue but without any signal from him, Lydia stepped forward and knelt before the Elder.  “I pledge my life and my loyalty to the Light and the service of the Elder.”

Her mother gasped and clutched at her chest.  “Unusual?” the Sheriff whispered.

Derek just nodded.  It wasn’t unusual, so much as bizarre.  From the mingled look of confusion and exasperation Stiles didn’t know what was going on any more than they did.  Lydia lived in her mother’s county and should have offered _her_ her pledge (it actually wasn’t necessary to declare for a specific County Head _at all_ ).

Deaton went down the line accepting personal oaths from Jackson, Danny, Zachariah, Mara, Sara, Allison, and Scott.  When he got to Stiles he stopped.  “Tonight I also announce my retirement and appoint my successor.”  He placed the coronet, gold wrought in the shape of compound leaves bearing clusters of berries made of purple diamonds, on Stiles’s head.  “I name thee Stiles Anddraigfoch Rhisiart Stilinski, The Elder of the Light Fae.  May you guard and preserve our people for the good of all Fae.”

The initiates began hooting and wildly applauding as Deaton pulled the stunned young man to his feet.  The adults present mostly looked flabbergasted.  All except the Cypress, who looked _pissed_.  Derek was guessing she’d been next in line for the position.

Stiles bounded off the platform and up to his Father.  “Dad look, I’ve got a crown!”

“I see that son.  Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“You too.”

Derek felt out a little out of place as he watched the Father and Son embrace.  “I’m proud of you too,” he said.

“Thanks,” Stiles replied shyly.

“Oh look at the time,” the Sheriff interrupted.  “I’d better get going before one of the other guests eat me.  Derek, please have him home by one a.m.”

“Yes sir.”

“Hey!  Aren’t I like the boss of you two now?”

“No.” they replied in unison.

“Oh well.”

“I’ll take good care of him, Sheriff.”

The man sighed “You might as well call me _Dad_.  Try not to let him get you into too much trouble.”

“Hey!”

“I won’t.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Come on,” Derek said to Stiles while his Father walked away, “Let’s celebrate with your friends for a while before I take you home.”

The new Elder beamed at him and took his hand.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

After a quick round of handshaking and making polite noises with the Fae bigwigs Stiles gathered up his friends with a series of panicky head jerks.  The guy had a seriously low tolerance for politicking.  Lydia rushed to his rescue, deftly deflecting interest and redirecting conversation, somehow simultaneously opening a path to the exit.

“Yeesh, glad that’s over,” he said wiping imaginary sweat of his brow when they finally made it back into the mansion’s grand foyer.

Lydia made a rude guttural sound that had some impressive volume for such a petite person.  “Really, Stiles, your new station demands a certain amount of social aptitude.”

“But that’s why I have you, Lyds,” he replied fluttering his eyelashes.

Jackson rolled his eyes “Ease off, Stilinski, you have your own date to flirt with now.”  Derek’s fingertips itched a little, his claws longing to slide out (the fairy didn’t _really_ need those smug lips anyway).  Becoming Alpha hadn’t done much for his temper or protective instinct.

“You’re just jealous you’re not his type,” Scott said.

“I’m everyone’s type.”

“Fine, then it’s because he’s way hotter than you.”

Danny snickered, drawing a death glare from Jackson.

“It’s okay dear, I love you anyway,” Lydia said, patting his arm consolingly.

 

 

When they car idling in the drive the others hung back while Derek opened the door for Stiles.

“Don’t go all gentlemanly on me now, Der, I might start questioning your intentions.”

“Bite me.”

“Better, but I don’t think you want to be a were-dragon.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpanned sliding into the cavernous interior after him.  He looked at the others expectantly but they didn’t move towards the car, just stared at them with shit-eating grins, all except Scott who looked slightly uncomfortable.  This was very, _very_ bad.

Danny cleared his throat and stepped forward; he must have drawn the short straw or something “Stiles mentioned that you two we putting off…er…making a man out of him until he legal.  Since under Fae law we’re all adults now we thought you might want to pull your head out of your ass so we,” he motioned to the people outside, “are taking a different car home.  Don’t worry, we paid the driver to keep the divider up and the mike off.  You’ll find the stuff you need in the bag under the seat.  Have fun.”

Before Derek could protest the Kapua lunged forward and slammed the door and they were off.

“That’s it, we’re getting you some new friends,” he grumbled.

“They are my sworn vassals,” Stiles said loftily, “Besides, they have a point.”

Derek took a whiff of the air in the car, scenting for whatever it was they were going to “need”.  His heart sped when he smelled what was in the bag.  Unfortunately it was under Stiles’s seat and if he tried to snatch it and throw it out the window it would be impossible to conceal his excitement, which would send entirely the wrong message.

“Wonder what they left us,” Stiles mused, leaning down to fish the bag out from under the seat.  Derek was screwed.  Whisky-brown eyes glowed crystalline white when the saw what was in it.  “Um…it’s…uh.”

“I can smell what it is,” he muttered desolately.

His mate didn’t miss his tone of voice “Wow, is the idea of having sex with me really that awful?  Cause your giving me all kinds of mixed signals there buddy.”  Derek crossed his legs at the pointed glance to his lap.  “Listen up, Hale,” he flinched at the scathing way Stiles said his last name, “I’m sixteen, a Royal, a half dragon half phoenix, the highest ranking Light Fae official in the country, and have killed more than a dozen people, most of which I _ate_.  I am _not_ a child anymore.  And before you try and blame this on my Dad, keep in mind that if he objected to the idea of you and me he’d have shot you dead already so what’s the problem?”

“Kate,” he replied simply, dark slimy things uncoiling in his chest at the thought over hands tracing the muscles in his stomach.

“Oh.”  The righteous fury evaporated in the blink of an eye.  “Oh fuck me, no not _fuck me_ , I just mean I’m the one pressuring you, even after everything you’ve been through.  Shit, _I’m_ the predator here.”

Stiles looked so torn up with guilt Derek was moving before he realized it, moving to the other side of the car and pulling him into a hug.  “You are nothing like her.  I just worry about you.”

“I know but I’m ready for this, for you.”

Derek pulled back to look at him but there was lie in the younger man’s eyes or the sound of his heart “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Derek couldn’t maintain his resolve in the face of Stiles’s earnest certainty, and he really didn’t want to. He caved. “Okay.”

“Okay?”  Stiles was beaming at him.

He nodded.  He might be going to hell but seeing his mate smile at him like that was totally worth it.

“Then I take back what I said before.  I _do_ mean fuck me.”

Derek’s vision went red as his eyes shifted “As my Lord commands.”  He grabbed Stiles’s tie and pulled him into a filthy kiss while he fumbled their jackets off.  White talons shredded his dress shirt as slid down in the seat and pulled his mate of top of him.  “Pants,” he growled.

“Good thinking.  Lydia will sic the Fae Fashion Police on us if we getting anything on these tuxes.”

“No more talking about Lydia,” he snarled possessively.

“You are so hot when you’re jealous.”  Stiles stood in a crouch, swaying slightly with motion of the car, and skinned out of his pants and underwear in one motion before bracing his hands on the roof to kick off his shoes.  Derek had seen him naked before but never like this, hard, leaking and pointing almost straight up to catch under his shirttails.  “You look like you want to eat me.”

“Hurry up and help get these off or I will.”  The young man grinned wickedly and darted in for a quick kiss before doing so.  Derek’s dick sprang up slap against his abs with smacking sound that made Stiles shiver.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to skip the foreplay.”

“Stiles, we have an hour and a half.”  He wanted spend every second of it so wrapped up in him their scents would be indistinguishable by the time they got back.

“Exactly.  We’re not doing this while my Dad’s in the house and you’re sleeping on our couch.  I want to try at least like…three positions while we have a chance.”

He somehow got even harder from the pornographic slideshow of images that sentence inspired.  “Your plan’s better.”

Stiles grabbed the bag and settled in Derek’s lap, pulling out the bottle of lube and the pack of condoms.  “Which one do you want?”

He took the lube.  “Put one on me,” he said, opening the cap and removing the seal.  He slicked his fingers and began lightly rubbing them around Stiles’s entrance, leaving his dick untouched for the moment.  Stiles gasped and nearly dropped the condom he was struggling to unwrap as the first finger slid in.  “It this okay?”

“God yes.”

Derek crooked the finger, stroking his prostate “And now?” he asked.

“More,” Stiles demanded pushing back onto Derek’s hand.  He eased in a second finger, gently scissoring, sliding both in and out up to the knuckle.  Stiles finally managed to get the condom unwrapped and reached behind to roll it on, fingertips sending electric sparks of sensation running up Derek’s spine.  “Now.”

He squirted some more lube into his palm and rubbed it on himself, lining up with Stiles.  The young man grunted as he slowly sat back, taking him inch by inch until their hips were flush.

Derek felt he was being shaken apart by the tight heat surrounding him and they hadn’t even started moving yet.  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered in awe.

Stiles smiled shyly “I love you too.”  Talons bit into Derek’s skin as Stiles put his hands on the Alpha’s shoulders and began to rock forward experimentally, whimpering when the roll of his hips ground the head of Derek’s penis over the right spot.  He settled into a rhythm, gaining speed and confidence until he was rising up almost all the way off before slamming his weight back down with a slap of skin on skin as his dick bounced on Derek’s abs.  Soon the werewolf was thrusting up as Stiles came down, adding his own grunts of effort to the young man’s keening moans of pleasure.  “I’m close.”

Derek tilted his head to the side, stretching out his neck “Do it.”

Stiles extended his fangs and struck, making a guttural sound of ecstasy as he sucked at the bite, sending surges of cold lightning through him and sending him over the edge.  He grabbed Stiles’s dick and began jerking him off frantically.  The Dragon’s eyes were white flares as he released Derek’s neck and came with a shout, hot splatters of come striking the werewolf’s chest and chin before he collapsed on top of him.

They lay like that for a few minutes catching their breath, Derek idly nibbling at Stiles’s ear.  “Mmm that was amazing.”

“No falling asleep now.  Sleepiness is weakness of character, ask anyone.  Besides you have some seriously high octane werewolf mojo.  I only took a sip and I’m ready to rut against you like a horny dog.”

“Dog jokes _now_ , are you serious?”

“When am I ever _serious_?  I know you’re not a dog, you’re a wolf.  What I meant was doggy _style_ , cause I’m planning on pounding you from behind until you _howl_.”

“Well if you must.”  He was already getting hard again at the thought.  Whatever his mate wanted he was _more_ than happy to provide.

“You wanna wear the crown this time, _my_ Lord?” Stiles asked with a leer, taking the gaudy monstrosity off his head and handing it over.

“Are you ready to… _serve me_?” Derek asked playing along.

“Always.”

“As The Elder wishes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel good leaving this as a one off. Unless there is a lot of demand for more. FYI I have no idea where this would actually go, since any further plot development would almost necessarily require bringing in the characters from Lost Girl, which would be...difficult.
> 
> Also, the "word porn" referenced was Alpha Games/Alpha Terror by Arcs, a personal favorite of mine that also has Dragon!Stiles.


End file.
